The Joke's On Me II: A Black Comedy
by LilLolaBlue
Summary: Harlequin's hit the big time. Big time superhero coalition. Big time enemies. Big time trouble. But this ultraviolent ultravixen knows that being the Harlequin and the Comedian means never having to say you're sorry. Blood, bullets & black leather. Cool.
1. Hair of the Dog

**THE JOKE'S ON ME II: A BLACK COMEDY**

**Chapter 1: Hair Of the Dog**

**Harlequin's Hideaway, New York City Waterfront, 1975**

**I: Liv**

Well, hello again, friends and neighbours?

How the fuck are you?

Me, I've been better.

Let me ask you a question, are you paranoid?

I am.

When things are going well, do you sit there and wait for the other shoe to drop?

And things were going well.

I got made in the JLA, I moved out of Wayne Manor to my own place, the place Paulie had been using for his hideout, I made the cover of _Rolling Stone_.

By myself.

Yeah, I went from being the mask community's biggest embarrassment to the new fair-haired boy, in what was probably one of the most devious, underhanded and ultraviolent acts of my entire career.

Now, that's what I call ironic.

But, the thing about it was, I started getting That Old Feeling, and I wasn't sure if it was paranoia, or premonition, or both.

I guess it was a combination of the two, because that other fucking shoe, it dropped, alright, like a fucking anvil in a Wile. E Coyote cartoon.

Okay, I'm gonna teach you a new word, today.

Won't that be nice?

Today's word is defenestration.

Deee-fen-esss-tray-shun.

Got that?

Good.

Say it to yourself a few times.

Now, we'll say it together, one more time.

Deee-fen-esss-tray-shun.

Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

Sounds like something Whitey Wasperson does to his lawn.

Now, I'll tell you what it means.

It means throwing a person out a window.

The funny thing about it is, when I got thrown out a window, you know, just as I was going through it, I was thinking about that word?

Wondering if it had a past tense, as in "I have just been defenestrated."

I was also thinking that this is what I get for suiting up on one of my nights off and doing a favor for a friend.

Sometimes you really can be too fucking smart for your own good.

Or maybe defenestration is divine retribution for the likes of me thinking impure thoughts about Captain America.

**Two Weeks Before…**

_…he moved stealthily, just like an animal, so his presence always took her by surprise. _

_ "No." she told him, but the word meant nothing to either of them._

_ She didn't mean it, she only said it for the sake of the propriety she no longer felt, at least not with him._

_ Vivienne let the towel fall from around her body, and she drank in the sight of him, from eyes hooded with lust._

_ His strong, barrel chest, the thick, muscular legs and arms, all covered with coarse black hair._

_ His piercing blue eyes affixed her to the spot, and all she could do was wait…_

Jesus, don't they ever get down to business? I'm takin' this one back. If Logan really put you on the hook that long, you'd die waiting.

Lemme see if they gotta better story in this book…

OH BOY! HOT SHIT!

HERE'S ONE ABOUT CAP!

Boy, and I know I'm goin' straight to hell for it, but what I wouldn't do for a piece of him!

Steve's the one good thing I want to do before I die, yunno?

What's this one called?

_The Many Lusts of Captain America, Sexy Sentinel of Liberty_.

Many lusts, huh?

Sexy Sentinel of Liberty?

That sounds pretty good.

Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, where's the fucking part?

OK, this looks like it.

_…slowly I peeled away the skin-tight red, white and blue suit, still warm from the heat of his body, until we were naked._

_ He was an old fashioned guy, so I think he was a little embarrassed when I got on my knees in front of his fabulous golden thighs._

Fabulous golden thighs?

Fabulous golden thighs!

FABULOUS GOLDEN THIGHS!

Fuck me sideways, I'll bet Steve does have fabulous golden thighs.

That's more like it.

_ "You don't have to. You don't owe me anything for saving you. Really" He told me, blushing._

_ "But I want to." I said…_

Yeah, honey, me too. Boy do I want to, fuck yeah.

And that's just the way I always thought it would be with Cap.

He'd be all bashful, and ashamed of how he couldn't help but feel, and I'd be all over him like the stripes on the flag.

This is some good shit, this is what I was looking for.

_…I leaned forward against his weak protests, and he put his strong hands in my hair and moaned as I closed my fist and my lips around his…_

BRAAAAAAAAPPPPPPP! BRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPP!

What?

WHAAAAAAAT?

OH FUCK YOU!

Fuck you, you goddamn radio, shit, this is my fucking night off!

"What? What now?"

"Harlequin?"

"GODDDAMIT, DAN, IT'S MY FUCKING NIGHT OFF!"

"You don't have to shout!"

"Well, I'm busy! I'm really busy! What is it? What the fuck?"

"The docks. It's right down the street from you. Literally. All you have to do is put your costume on, and there's only one man. I'm on the other side of town."

"Well, I'm right in the middle of…never mind. I'll take care of it."

Seems pretty innocent, right?

There's this fugitive he's been looking for, nobody special, just some jailbird out of county, he's holed up at a warehouse on the docks, here's the address, can I please go pick him up and run him in?

Simple.

Routine.

I know that Nite Owl didn't know that his jailbird had got together with a few friends.

Not that I never fought three guys at once.

I've fought ten guys at once, but I came prepared to fight ten guys at once.

I would have just gone home, but they had Rorschach, and they were about to unmask him.

He was unconscious, but you don't know Rorschach.

He lives in his mask.

Dan doesn't even know what he looks like.

I had to save him.

And, I mean, I didn't expect the cocksuckers to go easy, I expected a fight, and I got it, and I got all of them without having to pull my gun or my knife, not that I wouldn't have, believe me, but what I didn't expect, at all, was that there were four of them, and that the one I didn't see was the one I was after, and that he would push me out the window.

The window was on the second story and as I was going through it, I fired at the cocksucker who pushed me and I saw the light go out of his eyes.

I was pretty sure that was the last thing I was ever going to see, and you bet your ass I screamed all the way down; I think I might have screamed for Eddie, even though he wasn't there.

Eddie was off doing one of his USA All-The-Way commando missions, in the Bolivian jungle.

The ones he doesn't take me on.

When I hit, I blacked out, completely, and the next thing I knew, I smelled mildew, old carpet, and rotten meat.

Heaven wasn't supposed to smell like that, and Hell was supposed to smell like sulphur, and so I figured out pretty quickly I wasn't dead.

I opened my eyes, and I could see the moon and the stars overhead, and I heard New York in the background.

I looked around, because I could, and found that I had fallen into one of those giant industrial dumpsters.

It was filled up with old foam insulation and mildewed carpet and carpet padding and that kind of shit that you get when you're renovating some old building, just the kind of shit to give you a nice soft landing.

I looked up and saw that the guy who pushed me out hanging half-in and half- out of the window.

He was as dead as he was ever going to be, and I was still alive and well.

Thanks to my costume being pretty much a space-age boiler suit made from canvas, Kevlar, and just a little spandex, just enough for me to be able to move, because I hate spandex, being short, stocky and curvy I do not have the figure for it, the glass didn't cut me when I went through the window.

I mean I had the wind knocked out of me, and sure, in the morning my whole body was going to hurt, but as much punishment as it's taken over the years, my whole body hurts every morning, anyway.

Like Logan says, me and pain are old friends.

But still, even though I am alive and unharmed, here I am in a pretty shitty spot.

I'm covered in glass, and whereas none of it is in me at this time, if I make any wrong moves, and the glass is just so sharp and at just the right angle, well, I get skewered by a nice thick slice of WWII vintage plate glass.

Not good.

I'm in deep shit.

Well, the Lord isn't going to send the likes of me an angel and the Devil never comes from Hell to help anybody out, so it was all up to me.

I lay there for awahile, waiting for my breath to come back.

The pain began, but it was nothing serious; the kind of pain you get the night you have some minor car accident where the door behind yours gets cracked up because some nut is driving around in January in a Peugeot with bald tires.

But as I was lying there, I was thinking about Eddie telling me to watch what jobs I took when I had no backup.

I was thinking about how I had only gone out on my nights off in case of emergency, and that happened two, maybe three times since 1966.

And I could count on my one the number of jobs I went into cold, with no intel at all.

Dumb, dumb, stupid, dumb.

"Harlequin?"

I guess he must have come to, in the end.

I opened my eyes again, my head hurt and two Rorschachs merged into one.

"I'm alive. I'm alright, mostly. What were you doing in this shitstorm?"

"Comedian asked me to watch over you while he was gone. Walked here. Got here before you did. Ambushed. Were six of them. Knocked out."

"Yeah, that's when I got here. I would have just said, fuck this, and called the cops when I saw there were so many, but they had you, yunno? No time to call for backup."

"Thank you." He says.

"Going to get your radio. Excuse me."

He got my radio off my belt, it was already crackling.

"…come in Harlequin. This is Batman. Are you in distress? Over. Come in Harlequin. This is Batman."

"Hold that closer to me, Rorschach. Thanks. Roger that, Batman. This is Harlequin. I've just been defenestrated."

He didn't even have to think about it.

"How bad is it?"

"Not bad at all. Although, this one calls for a new tattoo. I landed in a big industrial dumpster full of cardboard boxes, rotten food, old foam insulation and mildewed carpet and carpet padding. Gave me a nice, soft landing. I've got glass all over me, though and I blacked out. I think I have a concuss….AAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGH!"

I dropped the radio.

It hurt so bad.

"HARLEQUIN!"

I'm in too much pain to do anything but try not to sob, and Rorschach took the radio.

"Arm's dislocated, Batman. She tried to move it. Didn't realise."

I'm cursing in the background.

"Ow, ow, shit, goddamn, owww, motherfucker, owww, owww my arm, Jesus, owwww…yeah, dislocated. Left arm. I won't be trying to move it again. Owwww…"

"I've got your signal, and I'll be there in less than five minutes. Over and out."

So, Rorschach gets on the radio, trying to raise Dan to fly over and get me, and I saw a light on the corrugated iron wall of the warehouse, but it wasn't the light from the Batmobile.

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the pain, most of it in my arm, was starting in earnest.

I was pretty well out of it, I thought a giant robot had showed up, and I was wondering who had called the giant robot, until the giant robot's face moved up and Tony's face was under it.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"Tony." I said.

"Good. Then you didn't hit your head too hard. Stay very still, Liv. I'm going help take this glass away from you. Watch your hands, Rorschach. Now, Liv, does Bruce know?"

"He's coming. Watch my arm. Shoulder's dislocated. Again."

I dislocated it the first time the night I wiped out the New York chapter of the Friends of Humanity, beheaded their leader, saved the lives of three mutants, and almost died at the X-Mansion Infirmary of pneumonia, alcohol poisoning and more serious injuries than my dislocated shoulder.

Good times.

"I can see that. What the hell happened? Don't answer that. Save you strength."

The Batmobile got there a few moments later.

But, at least my brother and Pop were there.

Pop noticed blood coming through Rorschach's mask, and he made him sit down on the curb.

Dick took over picking pieces of glass off of me.

"I think it's dislocated again. My arm." I told him.

"That's how it looks."

"Hurts like a bastard."

This is when Nite Owl arrives.

He's upset.

I'm hurt, his partner's hurt, and Bruce is furious.

I think, at this point, everybody got into a fight, and I went out a little, but I woke up when I felt four pairs of hands on me.

"Trivelino?"

"Yeah, Pop?"

"Dan has a stretcher, and we are going to use that to carry you into the Owl Ship. But first, we have to lift you out of this dumpster. It's going to hurt, so, get ready."

"I'm ready. It stinks in here."

I've been beat up pretty bad a whole lotta buncha times, so I have to live with a lot of pain. Logan's taught me some of the pain management techniques he's learned over the years, and I was trying to put the meditation technique he learned from a Tibetan yogi into use.

But the pain from my arm when I so much as twitched was excruciating, so when they all lifted me, gently as they could, it felt like someone had smashed me in the chest with a flaming 10 pound sledgehammer, a pain that was swiftly ferried down the nerves in my neck and my arms and legs to the entire left side of my body.

I screamed, I couldn't help it.

Thankfully, I blacked out from the pain, because the next thing I knew I was all cleaned up, in my rooms back at Wayne Manor, wearing one of Eddie's shirts he throws out; I sleep in those, and my arm was in a sling.

Pop was there, with Alfred, and my doctor.

Eddie trusts Beast to keep his secrets, but I have a doctor I know will keep mine, too.

Dr. Donald Blake.

How do you think I got the Thor's hammer for being a true warrior?

He's seen all the scars.

"She's awake, sir." Alfred said.

"Already? How do you feel, Liv?"

"Sleepy. And in much less pain."

"That's because Dr. Blake had to give you a shot so he could fix your arm."

"Dislocated?"

"Yes, Miss Napier. Dr. Blake and I had quite a bit of trouble manipulating it back into place. Had you been awake, the pain would have been unbearable. It took some doing, but you'll be alright now. It shouldn't hurt as much. But you're going to have to wear that sling for awhile. And take a few days off."

"Anything else?"

"A few scrapes. A few bruises. A very slight concussion. Considering the fall you took, you were very lucky." Says Dr. Blake.

I yawned.

"I feel so sleepy." I said.

I think they gave me something to slow my Mustang down; I was pretty close to knocked out.

"Good. Now listen to me, Trivelino. I want you to rest. One week, no costume. I'd ask you to stay in bed for a day or two, but I know you won't do it." Dr. Blake tells me.

"Don't fight it. Go back to sleep, Liv." Pop told me.

"What about Rorschach? Is he alright?"

"He had a minor concussion. Go to sleep, Liv." He repeated.

"Somebody has to tell Eddie." I said.

As I was nodding off, I saw him and Alfred looking at each other, with expressions of worry on their faces.

As I fell out, I hoped it was me they were worried about.

But I had this feeling it wasn't, and I knew that wasn't paranoia.

It was premonition.

_Author's Note: Uh-oh. Do Bruce and Alfred know something Liv doesn't? Something about Eddie they don't want to tell her right after she's been thrown out a window? But what could possibly happen to the Comedian? He's indestructible, isn't he? Well? Isn't he?_


	2. Bungle In the Jungle

**Chapter Two: Bungle in the Jungle**

**Amazon Basin, Bolivia, 1975**

**I: Eddie**

One place Eddie couldn't stand was the fucking jungle, and this goddamn decade, the only place they ever sent you was to another goddamn jungle.

Too many ways to die in a goddamn jungle, and none of them were good.

The animals who had to live there, they never seemed to happy about it, either; most of them darted around like they hated it, too.

The birds called to each other, and monkeys screamed in the treetops, and you could hear the clicking of millions of spiders spinning their webs.

It was hot, and humid, unbelievably so, and the air was so thick you could have cut holes in it, big insulting holes through which all the noise of the jungle roared in.

But it wasn't the noise that bothered him; at least the noise kept him awake.

It was the sun, the hot, burning sun that looked and felt like it was right the fuck on top of him, that cruel bastard of a midday sun that seemed every day to hang in the sky longer before night finally came.

What he had to do was try to think.

If he could keep his mind working, he could keep his eyes open, until it was dark, and cooler, and safe to sleep.

Maybe it would rain, again, tonight.

The rain brought those fucking mosquitoes out in full force, but it had saved his life, the rainwater he'd managed to swallow, and the way it had soothed and cooled his burning skin.

His wrists and his ankles were starting to get real bad, but maybe that would work to his advantage.

Maybe one of these hungry little animals would smell the blood on the ropes and chew through them.

Or maybe they'd just stick to their original plan, and wait till he was dead, so it could be dinnertime.

If I went in with a team of my own, like with Jimmy and Steve, I would know that one of them was coming for me.

If I could stop being a whaddyacallit, what my daughter calls me, a male chauvinist pig, and I brought my partner, I'd know she was coming for me.

If I went in alone, nobody would have got the drop on me.

It was a fucking stupid idea, this bullshit training idea, and I should have known better, I did know better, what the fuck was I thinking?

Hindsight is always 20-20.

Bullshit.

More like Dick Nixon is always full of shit.

But I wuz just following orders.

Bullshit, that was what the Nazis said.

He heard a little movement in the bush, and then Machado showed up, all cowboy hat and mirrored Aviator shades.

"Not dead yet, eh, _hombre_? You know, nobody I ever done this too has lived so long."

"Then how about lettin' me have a last request? Even I gotta die, sometime."

Machado laughed.

"You want what?"

"How about a woman? She's have to be blind. Or have a real strong fuckin' stomach, at this point, but, maybe I'd rather come an' go than just go."

Machado laughed even harder.

"What, give you a woman? I know all about you and women, _hombre_. You could turn a nun into a _putana_. Even half dead, you'd do whatever it is you do to women, and she'd set you free. Then you'd come and kill us all."

"How am I gonna do that, now? I'm on my ass, here, only thing I think I could get up is my dick, and that's just because it's pretty sure we're on the last dance. Look, I'll be straight with youse. You got me. But, if you give me a chance, I'll give youse a chance. You cut me loose, gimme a piar of pants an' a shirt an' some shoes, I'll find my truck and drive my ass outa here, because I'm in no shape ta fight. Now, by the time I get in good shape to fight, that's maybe a coupla weeks. Plenty of time for alla youse to get the fuck outa here. Now, maybe I find youse, and maybe I don't. Maybe so many people are tryin' ta kill me right now today in New York, I ain't gotta lotta time to worry about who tried to kill me last month."

"That's not much of a chance, _hombre_."

"It's more than you'd be givin' me. C'mon, Machado. This is a one time offer. You walk away, the deal's off."

"Why do I need to make a deal with you?"

"Because if I get outa here in my own, I'll cut your spic head off with a piece of piano wire and shit down your fucking neck. And if I'm dead, you'll have my partner to deal with. And she's crazier than I am. She'll take you alive, bring you someplace she can kill youse nice and slow. She'll kill your mother, and your sister, and your fuckin' dog, and the first girl you ever fucked. If I was you, I'd let me go."

"Don't use up so much of your energy, _hombre_. You're going to need it."

Machado went down over the hill.

Eddie started thinking, again.

There had to be some way out of this shit Dick Nixon dropped his ass into.

"_No, no, Eddie lad, you can't sit this all on Tricky Dick's doorstep, or even that fucking Dan Mitrione and his fucking School of the Americas."_

Eddie knew that voice anywhere, smart-ass Brooklyn with a touch of Irish brogue, a deep, nasty chuckle of a voice.

It's Pop.

Eddie opened his good eye.

"Pop? It can't be you, you're dead. I killed youse, myself. I'm seein' things."

Pop laughed.

I'm seein' things.

I'm seein' Pop, in one of his five hundred dollar gangster suits, pinstripes, spats and all, with his fedora on cockeyed like George Raft and Jimmy Cagney.

"_Did you now, Eddie, lad? I think you had help from your sister. As for the rest, maybe you are, Eddie, and maybe you ain't. Maybe you're seein' me come to take you to the other side for a loooooong fuckin' spell in Purgatory. Or maybe I'm just a figment of your imagination. But you better fuckin' listen to me, Eddie, lad, because you are royally fucked."_

"Yeah, Pop. I know that. But look, the fucker uses Nazis, there's no such thing as ex-Nazis, to train his recruits, and then he wonders why the ops he involves them in go wrong. Oh, I don't know, gee, I fucking wonder! Maybe it's because they're Nazis!"

"_No point getting angry about it now, Eddie lad, you've got to work your way out of this one. And don't say you've been in worse trouble; this is about the worst trouble you've ever been in. And it's not bastard likely to get better. Pretty soon they're going to start wondering why it's taking you so fucking long to die and just kill you. So you had fucking well better find a way out of this."_

"But there is no fucking way out of this, Pop, fa Chrissakes! If there was a fucking way out of this, I would have figured it out a week ago when they first staked me out here! I was a helluva lot healthier, then. Shit, I should have brought my partner."

"_So why didn't you?"_

"Because I didn't like the setup. I figured it would make a lousy first mission for her, too fucking dangerous."

_"Well, you was right about that, huh, Eddie lad? If you didn't like the setup, why the fuck didn't you tell Dick to shove it?_

"I don't fuckin' know! Leave me alone, willya? Is it just me, or is the sun hotter today? Probably just me."

Eddie closed his eye and opened it, again.

"Pop?"

"_Snap out of it, Eddie lad! If you close your eyes before that sun goes down, you won't be opening them again! Now, about your partner? She is a witch, you know."_

"Yeah. So fuckin' what?"

_"Don't be a fuckin' moron, boy! Try to send her a message with your mind. Witches pick up on that kind of crazy bastard shit."_

"What? Bullshit!"

Fuck you…

…

…

_"Eddie! EDDIE, WAKE THE FUCK UP, LAD!"_

!

"Okay, I'll try it. What the fuck have I got to lose?"

_"That's the way, Eddie. Fight the bastards with everything you've got!"_

"Hey, Pop, ya think youse can stay here with me until the sun goes down, or do they need youse for somethin' in Hell?"

"_Oh, they need me to stoke the fire under the kettles of all the sons of bitches you've sent to be in my care. But I think I can manage a few hours away."_

"Thanks, Pop."

"_That bastard sun is hot today, fucking hot, isn't it, Eddie lad? It's hot as this in Hell, it is. I wish I could block the bastard thing for you, boy. Because it's fucking hot."_

"It sure as fuck is, Pop."

Sure as fuck is.

**II: Liv**

I slept a long time, I didn't wake up until the middle of the next day.

I was feeling a lot better.

After all, it wasn't like I got badly hurt, but something, something was bothering me, something I couldn't put my finger on.

Now I always had a little bit of what Charlie Xavier calls psi ability; it runs in the family.

I'm no Jean Grey, but I do have something, I mean, I am a witch, right?

Enough to know that when I get a feeling about something, or when I had some kind of premonition, that it wasn't something to just ignore.

The feeling started as, a little tickle at the edge of my crowded, brawling, fractured consciousness.

By the time it was two days after I was hurt, and I was back at the Hideaway, it had muscled its way in further, becoming the thing on my mind that was just under the whizzing current of my thoughts.

Like having a sty in the old third eye.

You know what they say.

A witch isn't like other people; she has a third eye that's open all the time, it never sleeps, and it can see the whole of the universe, the way it really lies.

That's how a witch can see fate.

They say you can't change fate but you can bend it, I say, bullshit, there is no fate but the fate you make.

I tried to ignore it; I told myself I was just jumpy after what had happened.

Was it premonition?

Was it paranoia?

I was hoping it was paranoia, I was praying to God.

So, on my first day back home, an uneasy day, I got kinda tired of bumming around the house all day long chain-smoking, with that uncertain feeling of paranoia and vague nameless dread hanging over me.

So I tried to do something to take my mind off it.

I got on the old Triumph T-Bird and rode around the city for awhile.

I ended up in this bar on the Lower East Side near Mason's where I really used to get ripped, and I had a beer or two, and knocked some guy on his ass, and then I drove uptown, and as I was going down Fifth Avenue, I looked up and I could see lights on in Tony's office in the Stark Tower.

I decided a bit of light mayhem might lighten my mood.

I rode the bike in through the doors and into the elevator, and used my code to take me right into his office.

It was a short trip up to the penthouse, and Tony sent my bike down in the elevator and asked the doorman to park it, and then me and him had a couple of double Scotches, and went to bed.

But, even then, I was still antsy.

I apologised to him for not staying the night, but I was feeling really weird and I figured if I went home and slept in my own bed, that might do the trick.

He was real understanding.

Tony, he's a real fucking dick, he really is, but it doesn't matter because he's a good friend, the man is good as gold, he's fuckin' golden.

But going home, it did the fucking trick, alright.

I woke up the next morning with a horrific vision of jungle hell drifting through my dreams in front of that third eye, with a certainty of thudding dread, a horrible headache that felt like Great Thor was inside my head, yanking on the tendons behind my eyes and beating on my brains with his hammer.

There was also blood streaming out of my nose, going all over the sheets.

I never had anybody talk to me in my mind, before.

Charlie Xavier has tried to poke around in there, and so has Jean, but what psi shit I got, I can use to keep other people out.

For their own good.

Parts of my mind are not a very nice place to be.

Even I keep them under lock and key.

But I woke up that morning hearing Eddie screaming in my ears as surely as if I had slept through something important and he was right there in the room with me, trying to get my ass out of bed.

"HEY, LIV! LIV! FUCK, I DUNNO IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, KID, BUT IF YOU CAN, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, RIGHT GODDAMN NOW! YOUR OLD MAN IS IN A FUCKIN' SHITLOAD OF TROUBLE! COMIN' HOME IN A BOX KINDA TROUBLE! I MEAN GET THE DOC TO ZAP YOUSE HERE, RIGHT FUCKIN' NOW!"

Eddie.

Very bad things were happening to Eddie.

I jumped out of bed and I was awake and alert in a flash, getting suited up and packing, putting on the combat version of my costume, loading up my knapsack for jungle warfare, the whole nine yards.

First Sergeant Trivelino J. Napier, USMC, Special Forces, your country needs you.

Right fuckin' now.

I had Jon zap me to the lab, early.

You know, Dr. Manhattan is not beyond amusement.

He had a bemused look on his face when I interrupted his and Laurie's breakfast, dressed for jungle warfare and armed to the teeth.

"Are we going back to Vietnam? I thought that was long over. And shouldn't you still be taking time off?" he asked me.

"What the fuck?" Laurie wanted to know.

"I'm fire. If I ain't, I'm good enough. Jon, I need to you send me to wherever Eddie is. I take it you know. And I know things have gone bad."

"I see. Exactly, or the general vicinity."

"General vicinity. I may need the element of surprise."

Jon raised an eyebrow.

Kind of like Mr. Spock.

"And you know this because?"

"Because I woke up this morning with a terrible headache, a nosebleed, and Eddie on the emergency frequency in my brains with me, telling me to get my ass to Bolivia, pronto."

Jon nodded.

"I see. You know, now that you mention it…that's very possible. People with moderate psi ability have been known to develop low grade telepathic links with close friends. Family members. Latent links that are only manifest in times of extremes. And the nosebleed and the headache present some interesting evidence."

One thing about Jon, with his perception if time, he has no longer any concept of what it is to be IN A FUCKING HURRY.

"That's great. I'll get an EKG when I come back, and you and Charlie Xavier and I can study it, but right now, I NEED TO GO!"

"Oh. Right. Sorry. If you find yourself in over your head, get to the Comedian's vehicle, and radio for help at frequency 91.9."

"Jon, are you just going to let her go alone? It hasn't been a week since she got thrown out of a window! " Laurie sputtered.

"Does she look like somebody who's willing to wait for me to get a team together? And how much trouble could Blake really be in? He's the Comedian. Trust me, Laurie. Liv can handle a simple jungle mission." Jon explained.

Simple jungle mission.

Gee fuckin' whiz, Jon, thanks for taking a peeky-poo into the circular motion of time and seeiong what was really going on.

But that's the way everybody feels, not just Jon.

He's the Comedian, he's fucking close to invulnerable.

Anyway, I'm sure Jon explained himself fully to Laurie, probably about how in missions like this, the bigger the team you sent in, the worse the fuckup, but I wasn't there to hear it.

In a flash of blue light and a rush of wind, I was no longer in Dr. Manhattan's apartment, I was in the jungle at twilight.

It was disorientating, and I crouched for a few moments, in the brush, getting my bearings.

Now, as you know, my natural habitat is the concrete jungle, so I was a little of what you might call out of my element.

Still, in the course of the long, strange trip that's been my mask career, I'm no stranger to jungle warfare, although the last time I was in jungle Hell was with a team.

Now, I was out here on my own.

But, then again, that might be better.

It'll keep me sharp.

Before my big, jumped-up brain could start churning out ways that everything could go wrong, I switched myself over to following procedure and going on instinct, and hoped I could keep that interior Mr. Spock at bay until I had found Eddie and we were out of danger.

One thing I learned from Logan is that every animal should make use of its senses.

He taught me all about survival in the wild, about living and fighting and surviving in the woods or in the bush.

He taught me how to track, too, and let me tell you, tracking is one of the things that Tiggers do best.

It's real meticulous; it goes well with my personality.

I sniffed at the air, rolled the dirt between my fingertips, tasted and sniffed it and let my ears pick up the sounds around me.

It made me feel more familiar with my surroundings.

Then, I started looking for tracks.

That took the longest time.

It took me about three hours to find the tire tracks of Eddie's Ford M151 military truck. Worse, it was an old trail, two or three days old, that was hard to follow and took me deep into the brush.

I've done all the work on every vehicle Eddie ever drives, and I know that damn truck from tires to paint job; I'm the one who keeps it on the road.

It's a mean machine, now, but you should have seen the shape it was in before I did some mods on it.

Now, Eddie's a wheel man and he always has been.

My father taught me how to drive by the time I was seven years old, with blocks on my feet, but I only had to do it once before I started tooling around illegally, when I was 13.

Mick the Merciless, though, he was grooming his favourite son Eddie to take over the family business, and he figured he had to show the kid the ropes from a young age.

He had Eddie driving him around town from about the same age, but he was tall enough he didn't need the blocks.

Eddie grew up behind the wheel of a car.

By the time he was 11 years old, he was outrunning the cops and gangsters alike on the streets of New York in his father's V-8 Ford while Mick was leaning out the windows, shooting.

He got out of construction right after his father died and became a local truck driver, a profession he didn't give up until he'd been the Comedian for a year.

A year in which he got close to Sally Jupiter pretending he needed somebody to teach him how to drive.

Goddamn Eddie, what a sunnuvabitch.

In the war, he drove every kind of vehicle the US Army made, including the Invaders specially modified Sherman tank, which he still drives down 5th Avenue every year in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

My point is, a wheel man like Eddie doesn't abandon his personal vehicle in the brush to the elements, unless something is wrong, any more than a cavalryman would leave his horse tied to a barbed-wire fence with no food or water and a split hoof.

And something was wrong, there was an _Herba Mate_ cigar in the ashtray, burnt down to ashes without ever having been smoked.

Wasting a good Cuban cigar is something else Eddie would never do.

Not only that, all of his gear was still in the back; he had abandoned it in a hurry.

Once I got in the driver's seat, I realised the seat was way too far up for Eddie to have been the last person to drive it.

Eddie and I get into fights when we go somewhere in my car and I want to drive; I only get to drive the M151 on rare occasions because I work on it.

He would never have let a stranger drive it.

Worse, the keys were in the ignition.

The only good news was it started right up.

I followed the trail slowly, in reverse, driving the car carefully over it's old tracks once again, just in case someone was tracking me.

The recent rain made it hard for me to follow the trail, but I found a marker along the way that turned my blood to ice water in my veins.

Slowly following the truck's original track, I saw a piece of blue-coloured steel sticking up out of the ground, and about half a white star.

I stopped the truck, and got out.

It was Eddie's whole costume, buried in a shallow hole in the ground.

Guns, boots, everything.

Buried in a shallow hole so that the rain would eventually wash the dirt away, so that somebody would find it, and infer the only reasonable thing.

The Comedian was dead.

And just because whatever message he was trying to hammer into your brain didn't come through until today, that doesn't mean today was the day he sent it.

Maybe it just came through.

Maybe you're too late.

But I couldn't think about shit like that, because I had a job to do.

After I secured Eddie's costume and obliterated my tracks, I continued to do it.

Following the tire tracks, I came to a kind of compound.

I hid the truck in the brush, and made my way closer, to the perimeter, commando-style, on my belly, and took in the layout.

When I got a load of it, I started to relax just a little and think that, if he was still alive, I might have a good shot at saving Eddie's ass.

The place was a dump, obviously not a bona fide military or paramilitary installation.

Three rusty buildings made mainly of corrugated iron, in a makeshift compound barely eked out of the Bolivian jungle bounded by chain link fence all around, with barbed wire on top.

But, appearances can be deceiving.

Somebody in this dump had got the drop on the Comedian.

I cut a small hole in the chain link fence with my adamantium machete, small enough for little old me to slither through, and followed the sound of voices and the smell of men, sweat, and cheap liquor to the smallest of the three buildings.

I wasn't dumb enough to look through the window; I peered through the cracks in the joints of the shoddy corrugated iron walls of the hastily and poorly erected building.

It looked like a bad Dennis Hopper movie in there.

Five guys.

Two Bolivians, three Americans, heavily armed, all in sweaty fatigue-pants and stained OD or brown undershirts, wearing bandannas, hats, shades, or all three.

I don't know their names; I never got an opportunity to learn them.

I gave them names based on what they looked like and how they acted.

The Americans were Fat Moustache, Crew-Cut Douchebag, and Nervous Norvus.

The Bolivians were Teeth and Gunbelts, and his boss, Cowboy Hat.

They were playing cards and drinking eye-watering rotgut cheap tequila that was giving me a headache just from the stink of it, and drunkenly braying at each other in a conglomeration of Spanish and English.

On the table along with a shitload of money was a mountain of Bolivian marching power, and a stack of bricks of grass.

They were smoking so much weed that I was getting a buzz on.

Besides English, I can speak Spanish and Russian; I learned Russian from Paulie and Ivan, and Spanish from the street, so I knew what they were saying.

Without quoting you the whole drunken conversation, I'll give you the important points.

The Americans had been sent in as trainees by the USMC Special Forces, to assist the Comedian in his mission, which was to blow up the compound, as the smallest building was a weapons, ammo and explosives cache and the larger building was a refining factory for coca leaves.

Definitely a bad Dennis Hopper flick.

Maybe with old Ernie Borgnine in a supporting role.

Anyway, these few proud Marines were apparently more interested in coke and cash than in their country, or at least, their orders, so they did their yes sir, no sir, bit for Eddie until they got to the site, and then alerted the Cowboy Hat and the local yokels.

He didn't go down easy.

It took thirty men to subdue him, and ten of them were resting in pieces in shallow, unmarked graves in the jungle, five of whom had been his Marine trainees.

Now, we join the important part of the conversation, already in progress.

"I can't believe the old _pendejo_ is still alive. Tomorrow morning will make it seven days he's been staked out in jungle." Said Teeth and Glasses.

Seven days.

Seven fucking days?

Well, at least I knew he was still alive.

"I know it. He's a tough old bastard. The toughest there is. Did you see the way he took those guys out? We've buried how many in the last week? Five more? Hell, we still got 10 guys lyin' on their asses. And I'll bet a pile of them ain't gonna make it. It's a shame he wouldn't look the other fuckin' way." Says Fat Moustache.

"I know. The whole mission, all he did was bitch about how it was a pain in the ass, and they could have sent some cherry to do it, and about fat, greasy, corrupt politicians with their hands out and theie big ideas. But, he still wouldn't go with us. And he's not dead." Nervous Norvus gulped.

"He won't make it till morning." Teeth and Glasses pronounced.

"That's what you said last night. And the night before. And the night before. Look, guys, I don't know about this. I mean, we're talking about a guy who's as well known as Superman. I mean, he and Dr. Manhattan pretty much won 'Nam, an' he fought the fuckin' Nazis with Captain America. I mean, this isn't a guy we can just make disappear and nobody will notice. What are we going to do when it rains, and it washes the dirt away and they find his costume?" Nervous Norvus asked.

"Shut up. When somebody finds it, we'll all be gone. With a whole lot of fucking cash. And they'll never find him. The animals will eat him." Crew Cut Douchebag said.

"I dunno. Maybe we should have just shot him and buried him." Fat Moustache added

"We want to make it look like it was locals, dumb-ass!" Crew Cut Douchebag snaps.

"At sunset, I went to check on him. He's alive enough to call me a fucking spic and promise me he'll cut my fucking head off." Cowboy Hat said.

"That stupid old gringo! Tomorrow, I'll cut of his fucking head, if he isn't dead, already. And even if he is, I'll do it, anyway, Jefe!" Teeth and Glasses brayed.

"Shut up. We'll watch him, and let nature take it's course. That'll make it look right. Everybody fucking dies. Even that mean old son of a bitch. He has to fucking die sometime." Crew Cut Douchebag decided.

Well, if I was sitting at home munching and crunching my merry way through a bag of Doritos and a couple cans of Coke and maybe a beer, watching this movie, I'd be laughing my ass off and turning up the volume, but it's not so funny and corny when it's real.

Now, I had a strategic decision to make.

It would have been a piece of cake to just start shooting up their little shack with the chopper, and make all the fuckers dead.

But, if they got a chance to get their hands on their guns, if even one of them survived long enough to wound me, then I'd have my own dragging ass to worry about while I was trying to save Eddie's, and I was already not quite at a hundred percent from my defenestration.

See?

There's that word I taught you, again.

When you do cowboy shit like that during an operation, something can always go wrong.

Something Logan taught me.

Going berserk is your last resort, not your first, best option.

So, I decided to give those fuckers a few more days to eat, breathe, sleep, smoke weed, get drunk, jack off, and do coke, and went off to find Eddie.

Cowboy Hat said, "up the hill", so I kept looking around the perimeter, looking for an incline or footprints, some kind of trail.

It had rained, recently, and I was trying to follow a seven-days cold trail in the dark, with a flashlight, but even if Eddie made it to morning, I knew we would need the cover of the night to get away.

So why don't I use my magic powers as a witch to bend fate?

Grow up, fucko.

Neither magic or science works that way, that's why people who practise black magic always end up in deep shit.

Finally, when I was about five hundred yards from the biggest building, the coke factory, I began to see the ground slope upward, and the faint hint of drag marks in the mud.

They were old, and faint, but as I followed them, looking closer to where the thick canopy of the trees may have protected the tracks from being washed away by the recent rain that had muddied everything up, I found some better tracks.

The drag marks were punctuated with a few full footprints, some of which were made by Eddie's boots.

They have a smile face cut into the treads.

I followed the trail uphill, and lost it in some tall grass, which I slogged through, continuing to go up. Then, across some muddy, swampy ground I picked up some fresh tracks, a lot of fresh tracks, which I figured were from Cowboy Hat or Crew Cut Douchebag, who seemed to be in charge, coming up to see if Eddie was dead yet.

That led me to a rocky path where I found some cigarette butts, and I could see stubborn spatters and splashes of old, dried, brown blood on the rocks that the rain had not washed away.

I followed the clear trail of Eddie's captors to the top of a small hill, upon which sat a couple of very big trees.

They had him staked out between them.

Would you believe me if I told you it broke my heart to see what they had done to him?

Because it did.

I swear to God, it really fucking did.

It was really hard for me not to go berserk.

Eddie's arms were stretched out behind his head as far as they could go and tied together at the wrists with a rope, which was tied to the one tree, and his legs were tied together at the ankles and tied to the other.

They had stripped him down to his shorts, and suspended his body about six inches off the ground.

Now remember, he had been there like that for seven days.

Seven fucking days.

For a moment, I couldn't make myself get any closer, because if he was dead, I didn't want to know.

But I remembered the promise I made in 1968, when I woke up in a hospital bed and found out that the donor for the blood transfusion that saved my life was Eddie Blake.

You already know the oath I made to Logan.

This is the oath I made to Eddie.

Where you have been, I have been. What you have done, I have done. What you must do, I must do. And where you go, I will follow.

I said a little prayer, hoping that somebody out there would still listen to the likes of me.

I said a little prayer and thought of Ma.

Please Ma, please, don't let Eddie be dead.

He's not the love of my life, he is my life.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, took a deep breath, and squared my shoulders.

I decided that if Eddie was dead, the rulebook was going out the window, and I was going to go back down to that encampment and kill every living thing I found in it in all the special ways we Napiers do when we get very, very upset with someone.

And I was going to keep killing until everybody on God's Green Earth who had anything to do with Eddie dying was dead, dead, dead, harder than he had died.

Once I was standing in the blood of the killers, and their mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and husbands and wives and friends and lovers and their dogs, their cats, their rats, every insect in their houses, standing in it up to my ankles, then I would burn everything they had and everything they knew to ashes.

Yes, and sew the ground with salt.

And then justice would be done, my oath would be satisfied.

That made me feel just a tiny bit better, and I forced myself to walk over to Eddie.

The good news was that I could see his chest rising and falling so I knew he was still alive.

That was the end of the good news.

It was pretty goddamn bad.

Let me amend that.

It was unbelievably fucking bad.

If somebody had done this to Logan, it would still have been unbelievably fucking bad.

Yeah, it was that bad.

And Eddie, he was barely conscious; he didn't even know I was there.

You wouldn't want to see a complete fucking stranger in a movie in this kind of shape, let alone your partner, your old man, a guy you've known all your life, hurt that bad.

Knowing that you and you alone were the only thing between him and rapidly approaching death.

For one thing, he had taken a serious goddamn beating before they even tied him out.

It looked to me like some of his ribs were cracked, and it was a good bet his right arm was dislocated at the shoulder. He had some other bruises and some minor scratches, but there was this big, deep jagged slice across his calf that was infected like a motherfucker.

On top of all that, his whole body was sunburnt fucking raw, and the mosquitoes had been after him something fierce.

And that's without talking about his face.

I mean, if you didn't know him, to look at his face you wouldn't have recognised him.

One of his eyes was black and blue and swollen shut, and the other was closed, and his face and his lips were all blistered from the sun.

I wanted to cry like a fucking baby.

Hell I had tears coming out of my eyes, because I was afraid Eddie would die before I could get him to safety, but I didn't have time to get weepy.

I started cutting him down right away.

You know, he actually tried to stand up?

He was way the fuck out of it, cursing and screaming to no one in particular; and when I cut him down he tried to get up and fight me, but he ended up falling down, again.

"It's me, Eddie. It's Liv. Quit that shit, we gotta get outa here." I told him.

He looks at me like he doesn't know who he is, let alone who I am, but then he figures it out.

Tries to smile.

Holy shit, it's Niagara Falls.

I'm cryin' so bad my eyes are clouding up and I have to wipe them.

"Holy shit! It worked."

"Yeah, it did. C'mon, we gotta get you the fuck outa here."

Eddie managed to get on his feet again, with me helping him, and he popped his right arm back into place slamming it against one of the trees, letting out a roar of pain which I hoped nobody heard.

That was pretty much all he had the energy to do, because he was on the ground again right after that.

Now, I'd say Eddie goes about six-three, maybe six-four and I'll bet he weighs about two-forty. I'm a lot stronger than you might think I would be, but half-carrying, and half-dragging 240 pounds of dead weight twice your size down an uneven slope is not easy.

Especially not four days after you've been defenestrated.

Then, when we got halfway down, Eddie ran out of jam.

He just fell right the fuck down and took me with him, and I felt a real bad pain in my leg like somebody shot me in it the way he landed on me.

Kind of matched the pain that was growing in my bad arm.

I was afraid he was dead, but he wasn't, just out cold.

I can lift about 125 in dead weight and press it, tops.

So don't ask me how I managed to heave two-forty out of the tall grass, and load it across my shoulders and make it down the hill.

I can tell you it hurt like a motherfucker, but you'd be surprised what the human body can do in situations of extreme duress.

When I got to the bottom of the hill and we were on the level, I got him under the arms and dragged Eddie along where the old drag marks were, careful not to make any new footprints or drag marks, and it wasn't hard getting him to the fence.

All those assholes were passed out in their shack by the time I was moving out with Eddie.

The only thing was, I had to make the hole in the fence bigger to get Eddie through it, and then it was a short drag to the truck.

I knew I needed to wake him up and patch him up, but we urgently needed to get the fuck out of there before the badguys woke up, so I put him in the back and got in the driver's seat and prepared to make tracks.

My right arm and my back hurt so bad they were burning like I had army ants in my clothes stinging the shit out of me, and as for my left arm, it was hanging at a funny angle and it was numb and tingly when it wasn't hurting unbelievably bad. I was limping on one leg for most of the last part of the walk, but I was so keyed up I just put it right the fuck out of my mind.

I just floored the son of a bitch and tore through the jungle until I had put a good twenty or thirty miles of zigging and zagging between us and them, then , when I got to a dirt path that had a long row of Jeep tracks on it, I stopped and went to check on Eddie.

He was in a really bad way.

The truck was still loaded with supplies, so I had rations, water, blankets and first aid supplies, plus my own kit that I had brought.

The smell of water woke him up; he was really thirsty but I wouldn't let him just guzzle the water down; I knew that would make him sick.

I cleaned and bandaged the bad, deep rope burns on his wrists and ankles, and I cleaned out the cut on his leg and put a couple stitches in it just to keep it closed.

He screamed something awful when I bound up his ribs, yelling and cursing.

I had some hydrocortisone for the bug bites, which I mixed up with one of Ma's special herbal concoctions.

Then I covered him up with one of the blankets, because he was shivering, probably from shock.

The water, and the pain brought him around a little bit, and he started talking to me a little, which probably gave me more hope than it should have.

"Fuck, that hurt. I think the sons of bitches musta caved in every rib on that side. Gimme two of those quinine tablets, kid. An' somethin' ta eat."

I looked for something that was easily digestible for somebody who hadn't eaten for a week.

I came up with a roll from the MRE that I opened up and wolfed down to give myself strength to go on. I took a little of the gravy or whatever it was the meat was in and poured it into Eddie's bowl with some water. Then I tore half the roll up in little pieces and soaked them in the meat and water broth.

He couldn't keep the spoon in his hand, so I helped him eat and take the quinine tables, and then I let him have a little more water.

"Thanks, kid." Eddie says.

Meanwhile I still have tears in my eyes.

It's nowhere near Christmas, or Easter, but when I get home, I'm goin' to church an' light a candle, I really am.

"I'm gonna get you out of this, Eddie, and when you're better, we're going to come back and show these cocksuckers how we do things in East New York." I promised him.

"Your arm's out, kid. Lemme see it."

Eddie grabs my wrist a certain way, and puts his other hand on my shoulder a ceratin way, and pops my left arm back into place.

Yeah, it hurt.

But, can you believe, the shape he was in, he could still do it.

"Thanks, Eddie."

"Yeah. C'mon, kid, get me outa here."

"Sure, boss."

Eddie was on his way off to Never-Never Land again, although, this time I think he was more falling asleep than passing out.

I put my knapsack under his head for a pillow and put the blanket over him, again.

With Eddie taken care of as best I could, I got on the road and I started in on the radio.

I was driving about a half of an hour before I got anything.

"Colonel Blake? This is Director Fury. What the hell is going on out there! Over."

"Director Fury, this is First Sergeant Napier. I was told by Dr. Manhattan to hail you at this frequency. Everything is FUBAR, and the Comedian has been seriously injured. Over."

A moment of radio silence, a muttered curse.

"I copy, First Sergeant. Please stay in radio contact while we pinpoint your location. Can he talk? Over."

"Not much. He's in and out. Mostly out, at this point, Mr. Director. Over."

"Jesus Christ! I told that goddamn School of the Americas asshole that I didn't trust those grunts as far as I could pick 'em up and fucking throw them! I want you to take the road you're on for another one hundred miles. You will see a sign that says "Roadside Inn" in Spanish. Turn off, and drive five miles through the brush. You'll come to another road, you take that until you come to a big steel gate. I will meet you personally, at that gate. Over and out."

I stopped every twenty miles or so to check on Eddie, and make sure I gave him a little more water.

When I got to the big black steel gates, they opened like the red sea, and a whole fucking medical team came running out, with Nick Fury at the head, barking orders.

They got Eddie out of the back and put him on a stretcher, and immediately made with IV's and an oxygen mask and all kinds of tubes and bullshit that I knew would have driven him crazy if he wasn't so out of it, because Eddie hates doctors.

Which is just as well, because he never gets sick.

I wanted to go with him, on the off chance he might come to, and get violent, because he'd still be out of it, but Director Fury wanted to know what the hell was going on.

Nick took me to his office on the base, and I told him what I knew, and also of my intention, to go back there with Eddie, once he was recovered, and show these cocksuckers the meaning of the word pain.

Well, I didn't say it that calmly or coherently.

I ranted, I raved, I beat the desk and foamed at the mouth.

Literally.

I believe I actually used the term "bring down some of the ol' Helter Skelter on their fucking heads."

Logan isn't the only one who gets in an action situation and goes apeshit bugfuck batshit berserk.

And I had been holding berserk in for so long, I couldn't help it.

Yeah, I completely lost my shit.

Anyway, I come down from a particularly virulent rage, and realise that my clothes are covered in dirt, and Eddie's blood, and my blood is running down my face, because at some point I have taken out my Buck knife and carved a smile face into my own fucking forehead.

I have no fucking idea as to why.

I have buried said knife about three inches into Nick Fury's desk, or, at least the desk he was sitting behind, but is now sitting much closer to the wall.

The knife is still quivering in the wood, and my heart is beating so fast I can see it, and now my lungs are burning as badly as my back and legs.

Also, my bad arm, which is now pretty much my arm that is so bad I want to pull the knife out of the desk and saw it off to get away from the pain in it.

You wanna talk about pain?

"And you know what the best part is, Nick? Only four days ago, some fucker tossed me out a window, and I'm not really over that, yet." I said.

Nick pulls his chair back to the desk, and takes a bottle out of the drawer.

Glenfidditch.

Nice.

He pours me a whole water glass of Scotch, and hands me a wad of Kleenexes.

I sit down, wipe up my forehead, and drink the Scotch, probably faster than I should have.

Just then, the last of the adrenaline leaves my system, and my sore arms and my burning back, and my aching leg, and my injuries from earlier in the week all give out on me at once and I crash down into the chair.

"Jesus, Nick, I think I need a fucking doctor, too." I say.

"We'll get you one. Well done, soldier."

"Can I be in the same room as Eddie?"

"Of course."

**Washington, DC, 1975. Dr. Manhattan's Apartment**

**II: Laurie**

Laurie was asleep when the telephone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Finally, she got out of bed and answered it.

"You know what, fucko? I work nights. This had better be good." She snarled.

"It sure is, cupcake. This is your mother. The fuckin' sonsabitches! They got the drop on Eddie. In Bolivia. Liv's been hurt, too. "

Laurie's back hit the wall, and she slid all the way down it until her ass hit the floor.

She couldn't figure out why the hell she was so upset.

Except, she knew exactly why she was so upset.

Laurie's feelings about Eddie Blake were even more complicated than her mother's.

Larry never gave a shit about her; and Hooded Justice, he never showed his face.

Sally had a whole bunch of boyfriends after she divorced Larry, probably before she divorced Larry, but there was only one who was around with anything like regularity.

Eddie.

In that moment, she thought not about the trophy room, and President Kennedy, and the Vietnamese woman, but about how Eddie gave her a car and taught her to drive.

How he taught her to cook.

Took her to the drive-in once a week.

And way back to when she was little, before he got back together with her Ma, when she complained to him and Edie that Larry never took her anywhere, he started taking her to Prospect Park, and the zoo, and all of that.

She thought about when she was 16, and she told her mother she was going to quit school and move in with Jon.

An idea Jon was as horrified by as her mother was, but the same day she made that announcement, Sally brought Eddie into it, and they both told her she wasn't doing it.

She'd mouthed off to both of them, and asked Eddie what business it was of his, anyway, what she did.

Laurie often remembered what he'd said.

_You wanna know what gives me the right? Listen, kid, you and me, we both know goddamn well what gives me the motherfuckin' right! You looked in a mirror, lately? You see anybody who looks like Rolf Mueller, all blond and blue-eyed and German and shit like that, do ya? We both know why you're so fuckin' mad at me, and it doesn't have shit to do with somethin' that happened with me an' your Ma a long time ago!_

Laurie looked in the mirror every day, and she never saw anybody who looked like Rolf Mueller.

"Jesus, Ma, what do you mean, the drop? What fucking drop? They can't…he can't…"

She couldn't say it.

"Die, Laurie? Shit, everybody dies."

"Well, is Eddie going to?"

"They don't know yet, honey. The doctors think he's going to be alright, but he's in a real bad way. They beat him up, a whole bunch of them, maybe twenty guys attacked him at once, and tied him between two trees in the middle of the fucking jungle, a foot off the ground, and they left him there to die. He was there seven days, and Liv rescued him. She got banged up a little, doing it, but she'll be fine. The upshot is, Edie and I are both in New York, and we want to be where Eddie is. You get Jon, and tell him that."

"Okay Ma. Wait a little bit."

Laurie got off the phone, and went down to the lab, to talk to Jon.

"Are you going, too?" he asked.

"Me? Why should I?" Laurie immediately snapped.

"Laurie, can I point something out to you, and will you listen to me, before you get angry?"

"Go ahead."

"You cook like the Comedian, because when you were a little girl, he taught you how to cook. You like Westerns, war movies, horror movies and action movies, because when you were a little girl and the Comedian took you to the drive-in, with his nephews, one of whom is one of your two best friends in the world, that's what he took you to see. And he's the only person besides you I have ever met who answers the phone by barking "what?" down the line. Larry Shexnayder left you without a second thought, and the only steady male influence in your life after that, probably even before it, considering your mother used to leave you at his house where his family was living, was the closet thing your mother had to a boyfriend. The Comedian. He's practically your stepfather."

"Don't you think that's a little fucking bit strong?"

"No. He taught you to cook, he took you to the drive-in every week with Liv and his nephews and niece, when you were 15 he bought you a car and taught you to drive."

"Okay, so Eddie was Mom's boyfriend, and since he was around a lot and I didn't have a father, he played Daddy a little. Probably just to ease his guilty conscience, the sunnuvabitch! Thinks my mother and I are a coupla dumb broads, we'd forgive anything. Maybe she does, but not me. I'm not that dumb, fucko." Laurie snapped.

"Laurie, there's a little bit of Eddie Blake in everything you do, even in the way you talk. People your age don't call women "broads" and people "fucko", and nobody says "go take a powder" anymore. Your mother doesn't hate him. She still talks to him, and she still sees him. And Liv, your best friend, who's known the man all her life, too, she became his apprentice, and then his partner, and fell in love with him. He's never given you a reason to hate him, and yet you do. You hate him, but when you curse him, it's his words you use. And now, I can tell that you're upset and you're concerned, but when I ask you if you want to go with your mother and Edie Blake, you act like I'm crazy. It doesn't make sense to me."

"How do you think I feel? My mother sends me to this guy's sister's house, and he's always around, treats me better than either of the guys who are supposed to be my father do, then she brings this asshole around, and acts like he's OK, lets him play Daddy with me, on the occasions he's around. Then, years down the road, she tells me what he's really like? She's a real piece of work. And don't tell me that's what Eddie always says! Piece of work! I fucking know!"

"Laurie, do you remember the first time we ever made love?"

"Of course I do. It was my first time. What does that have to do with this?"

"Is it a good memory?" Dr. Manhattan persisted.

"Of course it was! You were kind, and gentle, and romantic. You did everything you could to make sure that my first time would be something special, and meaningful. You didn't hurt me at all, and I still remember how good I felt, lying in your arms, afterwards, thinking about how much I loved you. It's one of the best memories I have."

"And you've never been with any other men but me?"

"Of course not!"

"So that means that you've never had a cheap, drunken screw sitting on top of a trash can, with your shoulders against the cold, wet wall of some waterfront bar. It means you've never gone to some stranger's apartment, looking for release with a strange man in a strange bed. You've never thrown your shoes at a scarred, tattooed old degenerate old enough to be your father whose name you can't remember to stop him from rifling the drawers of your flop room over a bar. Cursing and threatening him in a drunken rage before you toss him out on his ass, lock the door, and fall back into the bed, to drink until unconsciousness overtakes you. You've never been used and thrown aside like a dirty Kleenex, like a human spittoon. You never learned that a little kindness and a little tenderness were things out of your reach. You didn't have to imagine them, reading dirty books about men you knew and trusted, but never approached, because you were sure that you were nothing but a drunken, brawling, murdering, whore, only a short stagger out of the gutter you were sure you were going to die in, any day now." Jon said.

Laurie realised he was talking about Liv.

She had never thought about it quite in those terms, before.

"You told me that you had your first drink when you were 13. With Liv. You had half a can of beer, and she had three beers and a few shots of whiskey, in-between. And that while you were having it, she told you about losing her virginity. Do you remember the story?"

Laurie nodded.

"Would you mind telling me? I won't say anything."

Laurie had always thought it was a funny story, but the way Jon had just recast Liv's drunken, swaggering, devil-may-care promiscuity as abuse and degradation, it didn't seem like it.

"Liv used to buy her beer from a man named Oliver MacTavish He ran a crooked pawn shop, in East New York, about a block from where the McClatcheys used to live. On the side, he sold booze to teenagers, around the back of his shop. He was one of these barrel-chested ginger Scottish guys, with big, bulgy Popeye arms. He even had a tattoo of an anchor on one arm, and everybody called him Popeye. He was bald as an egg, but he had a red beard; he was a funny-looking little tough guy. Short, but built like a fireplug. I have to tell you about Popeye, because that's what makes the story so, well, I thought it was funny at the time. He'd even been in the Navy for about a million years. Anyway, every Friday night, Liv drove there, illegally. She was driving at 13, in her own car that she rebuilt from a wreck. So, one Friday, she told Popeye she was out of money for beer. Well, you know Liv. She was lying. She had the money. She just liked this guy, even though he was kind of old and sort of ugly, and she wanted to get him to do something for her. Well, since she was driving, I guess he thought she was 16 or 17, so they got in the back of the car, and well, Liv got her beer. The next time, he said he'd give her the beer if she'd let him go down on her, but she had to blow him, too. The next week, Liv got her beer, too. The week after that, Popeye, he wanted to fuck her, and she said that was alright if he had a rubber, so she got her beer. The very next night, she went back, and Popeye asked her if she drank all that beer, already, and she pulled out all the rubbers in this box of Trojans, and they unfolded like an accordion, and she told him it was whiskey she wanted, and so she came prepared. After that, she paid him in cash for all the rest of the beer and the whiskey apologised for misleading him. It went on for a month or two, and then he found out she was only 13 and gave her the shoe."

Laurie always used to laugh at that, but, right now, it didn't seem too funny, a 13 year old girl coming back to the 40 year old crooked pawnbroker who traded her booze for sex and was too much of a louse, himself, to realise how young she was. And Liv, she didn't give a shit, because even then, as long as she had a shot and a beer and popped her hood a few times, that was all that she wanted and more than she expected.

"You're not laughing, Jon."

"It's not funny. Do you know what men from the Comedian's and my generation were taught to think of women who acted like Liv did? They were considered lower than whores, at least prostitutes did it for a living. Do you know what it must mean to Liv, to have found a man who treats her with dignity, and respect, like a human being? A man who, whether you like it or not, loves her?"

"I don't see what you're getting at, Jon."

"Laurie, Eddie Blake is the man who attempted a brutal rape on your mother, who killed his own father and hundreds, maybe even thousands of criminals like him. He's the same man who did black ops for the Invaders during World War II, and then in Vietnam, and I have personally seen him commit horrendous atrocities in the line of duty. In all likelihood, he was the second gunman who shot President Kennedy from behind the grassy knoll, and I saw him kill a pregnant woman, who was pregnant, probably with his child, in a wild fit of blind rage because she cut open his face. But I know But, he's also the man who took you and Paulie to the drive-in, who taught you how to cook, a man your mother loved even though she had every reason to hate him. He's the same man who pulled Liv out of the gutter, kicking and screaming, and made sure she started treading the upward path. The same man who put aside everything he was ever taught about the kind of woman who drank, and got tattooed, and had cheap sex with strange men and got into bar fights, because he wanted to give her the thing she needed most. Love. Eddie Blake loves your best friend. He still loves your mother. And his family. He raised his whole family, and he's their beloved patriarch. He killed his own father, who was a monster beyond anything that you could imagine, to protect them. His father murdered five of his siblings, and he terrorised and beat and tortured the rest for years. When the Comedian was old enough, and strong enough, he killed the man to protect the survivors, four of whom he raised like they were his own children. He's a very strange man, a very bad man, and a man of great contradictions. But, he loves you, too. He thinks of you like you're one of his family, because you're the daughter of a woman he's loved since he was 17 years old. Carries your picture, right next to your mother's. You and him and Sally in front of the Ford Mustang, all in your costumes. I know that's strange, and terrible, and confusing, but it's the truth. You can't just hate him, Laurie. Whether you like it or not, he's a man, not an ogre, and he's part of you. You might as well hate yourself." Jon finished.

He had skated right up to the brink of The Awful Truth, without really saying it.

"I guess I should go. I mean, you and I, we both know that Eddie he's…he's the closest thing I ever had to a father. I hafta go. If he's gonna die, I don't want him to die thinkin…thinkin' I completely hate him. And Liv, somebody has to watch her while he's out. Right?"

"That's right, Laurie. You should pack for a week or two."

"In here. In here, Lar. Here, the can't right this way."

Liv was on crutches and she had her arm in a sling, but she looked alright, Laurie thought, as she quickly ducked into the room Liv was standing in the doorway of, in the wake of the whoosh of light and wind, with her hand over her mouth.

She yanked open the bathroom door, and bent over the toilet.

When she came back into the hospital room, her mother and Edie were already there, trying to get Liv to at least sit in a chair.

Laurie went over to the other bed.

"Wait, Sal. Give her a minute." Edie was saying.

It was a helluva shock, seeing him there, so quiet and still, with his wrists and his ankles and his leg, bandaged, and the white medical patch over his left eye.

All the skin on his face and his chest was peeling from a bad sunburn, and it looked like someone had just gathered up every mosquito in Bolivia and dumped them all over him.

It had never occurred to her that he was anything like mortal, before. He never got sick, and if he got hurt, he could shake it right off.

It was like someone had peeled the top off the world, to see the strongest man you knew, somebody who you used to think was the strongest man there was, lying quiet and still in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and IV's.

Mortal as anybody else.

Mortal as you were.

"Jesus, Eddie, you look like shit. Goddamn sonsabitches. I'll get 'em. I'll get 'em all. Motherfuckers. Jesus, why the fuck am I getting all weepy? This is so fucked up." Laurie sniffed.

His good eye opened, a little.

"Is that offer only good if I'm dead?" he said.

His voice was weaker than usual, but she figured, if he was coherent enough to be a fucking wiseass, he was probably going to live.

She didn't know what to say, so she just went ahead and said something.

"Hey, we're supposed to be a team, right? The goddamn Watchmen. I mean, shit, Eddie, you ain't my favorite person, but, I don't think you ever did anything to deserve to die like that. I mean, we should all stick together, shouldn't we? Besides, you old bastard, you were like, the closest thing to a father I ever had. Maybe I owe you something. Before either of us die. In this mask business, who the fuck knows. Right?"

Eddie smirked a little.

Laurie was praying he wasn't going to say what she thought he was going to say.

"You said it, kid. Do me a favor, while I'm in and out of it. Keep Liv in her fuckin' bed. She's gotta be ready to go when I'm better, an' if she keeps leapin' around an' tellin' all the doctors what she's gonna do, she ain't gonna be."

Laurie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, that's the other reason I came down. To look after Liv."

Meanwhile, Liv was telling Edie about how the goddamn doctor couldn't make her do shit.

"Yeah, maybe he can't. But Sal and I can." Edie told her.

"That's right. If Merrie was here, she'd tell you to sit your happy ass down, and listen to the doctor." Sally agreed.

"But she wouldn't have smacked you one if you didn't. I will." Edie told Liv.

"I will, too."

Liv actually got back into bed and sat down.

Eddie closed his eye, again, and Laurie went over to sit with Liv, while Edie and Sal went to sit with Eddie.

"Laurie, what the fuck are you doin' here?" Liv asked.

"I thought you guys could use some help, when you go back in." she said.

Liv looked at her as if to say they both knew she was full of shit, but didn't say a word.

**II: Eddie**

The Comedian came to full consciousness amid the antiseptic smell of a military hospital, to the quiet sounds of doctors and nurses' voices talking somewhere outside the room he was in.

He waited for the pain to roll over him, and it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

Eddie opened his eyes.

He looked out the window and saw he was in the S.H.I.E.L.D Field Compound near La Paz.

He was hooked up to an IV, but no other wires or hoses or machines.

As he was carefully removing the IV from his arm, he recalled that his last lucid memory was of the burning sun of midday, and telling Sgt. Stapleton that he was a walking dead man, and that there would be very few men who ever lived on the Earth that would die as hard as he would.

The little punk bastard laughed.

Think, Eddie.

How did you go from being staked out between two trees to die, slowly, of hunger, thirst, exposure and fucking bugs to being in a military hospital, safe and sound?

First Sergeant Trivelino J "Napalm" Napier, USMC Special Forces, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., the Harlequin.

But how was that possible?

Nobody knew he was in trouble?

Real simple, Eddie.

You called her and she came.

It's like she says.

If you want justice, call the Harlequin.

She always gets the job done.

He thought some more as he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed.

There were some fading bruises on them, and a few healed scratches, and a bandage around his calf that he could feel the itch of stitches under.

His legs were covered in tiny scabs, like from healing insect bites, and there were bandages around his ankles.

His skin was also peeling, like from a bad sunburn, and his arms looked about the same.

His ribs were taped, and they felt a little tender, but he could breathe without a lot of pain.

Eddie had a vague memory of her coming out of the night, cutting him down, and carrying him to his Jeep, and an vague flashes of a long ride through the darkness, huddled under a blanket, with Liv bandaging his wrists and ankles, taping his ribs, bandaging his leg, and bringing him water and food.

Little sips of water, holding the canteen to his lips, little bits of bread in a watery soup, spoon-feeding him like he was a helpless baby.

It embarrassed the shit out of him that she saw him like that, but, then again, he had seen her in bad shape many times.

She actually had to pick him up and carry him on her back, the kid, only five foot one and 145, just like he picked her up and carried her.

He started to wonder if she got hurt.

Eddie noticed that there was a bottle of Pepsi with a straw sticking out of it, and a paperback book sitting on the table in front of one of the chairs for visitors to sit in.

He had fuzzy memories of having visitors, but since Laurie, who fucking hated him, was included, and she was standing over him and crying, he assumed they were dreams or hallucinations or some shit.

But, the bottle of Pepsi and the red lipsticked straw and the book were real, and somebody was going to be coming back for them.

Eddie stood up, and had to sit back down, but then, he stood up again.

Walked around the room a little.

It was Sal's shade of lipstick, and one of the kid's mask fuckbooks.

They had one of those stupid gowns on him, so he took that off, found the can, took a piss and drank a glass of water.

Looking around the room, he couldn't find anything but his dirty ragged shorts that he had been brought in with.

He wasn't about to put them on.

He had figured that was Sal's lipstick, he recognised it, and wasn't too surprised when she came in.

"Jesus, Eddie, Laurie's right behind me!" Sally exclaimed.

She pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his waist just as Laurie came into the room.

"I'm not going to ask. Jesus, Ma, I know you're glad he's alright, but give the man a couple hours, huh?" She said.

She sat down with the Pepsi and the book.

Wears the same lipstick as her mother.

"Okay, now, as it stands, good old Iron Man has given it to every broad in town, every which way, except the cleaning lady. But, he's in his office working late, so who knows?"

Laurie took a sip of Pepsi and her eyes widened.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed.

"Don't read that shit, Lar, it'll give youse bad ideas. Sal, enough with the sheet, I got this covered. So, how long have I been out?" he asked.

"About a week." Sally told him.

She was smiling from ear to ear, and boy, did she look good.

But the kid was stashed somewhere.

Jesus, if things come out the way I think they might, this old man is gonna need a hospital.

"You've all been here a week?"

Eddie was looking at Laurie when he said it.

Her eyes kept getting wider behind one of the kid's mask fuckbooks.

"This shit is unbelievable! I can't believe Liv reads this crap. I mean, that's not even possible, unless you're on the Olympics gymnastics team!"

"Yeah, we've been here a week. Eddie, what are you doing?" Sal asked.

"I'm lookin' for my pants."

A nurse came in to check on him.

She was young, and pretty, and he winked at her.

"Hey, doll, you know where my pants got to?"

"Colonel Blake, the doctor says…"

"Doctors say a lot of things. Do I look like a sick man to you? Where's the kid? The woman who came in with me?"

"She was released three days ago. Director Fury put her in a room in the command building."

"Yeah? What room?"

He looked in the cupboard with the red cross on it.

There were medicines on the top shelves, but his duffel was crammed into the bottom.

He took it out and heaved it onto the bed, rather effortlessly.

"I'm not sure. I'm going to go get the doctor."

"Okay, doll. But if he ain't here by the time I'm dressed, I'm just gonna leave. Hey, Lar? Go in the bathroom, I gotta put my pants on."

Laurie went, leaving the book behind and shaking her head.

By the time the doctor got there, Eddie was dressed in his boots, a pair of fatigue pants and an undershirt, and he had gathered up the bottle with the penicillin and the one with the ibuprofen and was putting them in his bag.

He was interrupting a discussion between the Comedian and the two Silk Spectres.

"…thing I don't know is whether or not Machado's got more guys, now. He probably thinks I'm dead, but I know that Stapleton's smart enough to be nervous that there was no body."

"So somebody hasta go spy on them. Me and Liv can do it." Laurie was saying.

"What do you know about the jungle?" Sally asked.

"Ma, I work in Washington DC. The jungle will be a refreshing break. Besides, Liv's been there, before."

The doctor cleared his throat.

"I see that you're feeling much better, Colonel Blake."

"You look surprised, Doc."

"You've surprised me the whole time, Colonel. You're a very good healer."

"Yeah, well, in my house, you hadda be. I had four brothers and a sister who never made it to ten. They weren't as good at gettin' better as me."

"I can see there's no way I'm going to be able to keep you here. But I would recommend you stay at the compound for a week. And it would be nice if you'd come in and let me examine you a few times during that week."

"I'll think about it. What about my partner?"

"Well, she sprained her back and pulled a hamstring rescuing you. The worst injuries she had were pre-existing ones. Cracked ribs. Signs of a recent concussion. She had just dislocated her shoulder, so, in the rescue, she did it again. I'd say she needed a week of rest before she came here and didn't get it."

"She'll get it, now, Doc. I'll make sure of that."

The doctor took his leave.

"What the fuck happened to my girl?" he asked Laurie.

Laurie rolled her eyes.

"The usual shit. More A-number-1 fuckin' crack shot Watchmen team-work. Dan had bad intelligence on this deal at the docks. The way he understood it, some fugitive he was pursuing, nobody special, just some small time punk who jumped bail on a county beef was holed up in this abandoned warehouse about two blocks from Liv's new place. It's her night off, but Dan's on the other side of town. He asks her to take care of it. She gets there and everything is fucked up. There's three guys, and they've got Rorschach, they knocked him out and they're getting ready to take his mask and parts of his face off. So Liv goes up there and gets the situation under control. Except this one guy was hiding, and he comes outta nowhere and shoves her out the window. It's two stories down. Right out the fuckin' plate glass window. Anyway, she shoots at him on the way out, and she gets real lucky and falls into this industrial size Dumpster. They been renovating the place, and the Dumpster was full of carpet padding and old foam installation and the usual rotten food and shit. It broke her fall. She's just starting to get better when she comes into our apartment, loaded for bear, and she says she's gotta go to Bolivia. Jon sends her. Then, later on that night, I get a call from Ma, telling me how bad things are. Shit, if I knew it was this fucked up, I woulda gone with her. I guess Jon knew, but you know how his mind works. You know what I think? I think it's a fuckin' disgrace. She gets hurt, Batman shows up, Iron Man shows up, they have to tell Dan to fly his ass there, his partner's hurt and so's the Harlequin. This Watchmen thing, it's a joke. So, I'm here now. I mean, Jesus, I'm getting ready to start having Jon zap me home to New York some nights, to work with Liv. Somebody hasta be on this fucking team, yunno?" Laurie told him.

She got mad just talking about it.

Mad?

Eddie wasn't mad, he was furious.

Sally could tell how angry he was getting

"Eddie, you've just been real sick…"

"I know that, Sal! Next meeting, next fucking meeting, I'm gonna kill somebody!" Eddie fumed.

"That would liven it up, some." Laurie quipped.

"I'm gonna go see the kid. Give her the good news."

"Just tell her it gives you a week to plan. That'll soften the blow." Sally suggested.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find the kid.

She knew him well enough to know that as soon as he could get up and go, he wasn't staying in the hospital; he let himself into the unlocked door of the room that had a purple and yellow mask hanging from the doorknob.

She was in bed, sound asleep, even though it was the middle of the morning.

There was a shower in the can, so Eddie took a shower, and then he re-dressed and bandaged his wrists, leg and ankles, and had a shot from the bottle the kid had left on the sink.

She had all his other gear in the room, and after he checked his costume and his weapons, he lit himself a cigar, smoked it, and then got into bed beside her.

She was still asleep.

He remembered thinking she might be hurt, and moved over closer to her, running his hands over her back, and her legs and her arms, looking for swelling.

She had one arm in a sling, and Eddie felt along it, gently.

No sign of a break; she probably just popped her shoulder out pretty good.

He had popped it back in for her, but that was only temporary.

Her ribs were bound, just like his.

He could feel the swelling under his hand.

But it wasn't too bad; they were getting better.

He supposed he could have, should have left well enough alone, then, but he didn't.

Eddie still had his hands on her, and they weren't looking for marks of injury, they were just looking for her, all of her, lying there next to him, warm and naked.

Soft in places, hard in others, his fingers and his palms finding the familiar curves of her body and the old familiar scars as well.

In his mind, he thought about all her tattoos, about what they were and what they meant as he ran his hands over the places where they were than he couldn't see, in the dark of her room, with all the blinds pulled down.

All the little spots she liked to be touched, he lingered.

"Eddie." She finally said, quietly, more a sigh than a word.

Hold on there, old horse.

She might be a little too banged up, yet for fun and games.

"Time to wake up, kid."

"What time is it?"

"Time for youse to tell me all about what's been goin' on while I was gone?"

The Comedian blew a couple of smoke rings into the air.

He wanted to see how she told it.

"Not much. Did an inspection on one of my cars at Mason's. Went to the movies with Laurie. Took Logan to Trivelino Mac's. Drove the T-Bird into the elevator at Stark Tower and got some motor oil on Tony's carpets in the penthouse. Got thrown out a second story window on the docks. Landed in a dumpster full of rotten food, old insulation an' carpet padding. Cracked a few ribs. Dislocated my shoulder. Good thing that dumpster was there, huh?"

"Yeah. And how the fuck did that happen?" he demanded.

"I had bad information. It was supposed to be one guy, and he was only a coupla blocks away from my place. So, I suited up, I went over and, it's six guys. They've got Rorschach hanging out a window and they're about to rip his mask off. He's unconscious and bleeding. I went up the fire escape, and went in there. Turns out, yunno what? There were seven guys. The one I didn't see threw me out the window."

"Kid, you don't get bad information. And you got no reason to cover over the Boy Scout's stupid fuckin' mistakes. I got this story from Laurie. Youse did a favour for that fucking Boy Scout, and he was so busy flyin' around in his tin can, he almost got you and his partner killed. That fuckin' asshole!"

"Jesus, Eddie, don't get sore."

"I'm gonna kick his sanctimonious ass!"

He went and sat at the end of the bed, and she came and sat beside him.

"It's alright, Eddie. I made it. An' you made it, too. C'mon, we better try and get some shut eye. Big day, tomorrow."

"Jesus, why the fuck did you come in alone if you was already fucked up?"

"Yunno. These kinds of missions, the bigger the team, the bigger the fuckup. Besides, I had the feeling that if you found a way to blast yourself into my head with me, you didn't have time to wait for a Watchmen team consensus."

"Team, my ass."

"Yeah, tell me abut it. So, when do we move out of here?"

"Doctor says you need another week of rest, an' I could use one too."

"Yeah. I'm pretty tired, Eddie."

* * *

"Go ahead, kid. Go back to sleep. I'm gonna go and talk to Nicky. I gotta get to the bottom of this shit."

Truth to be told, that little adventure kicked both of their asses pretty hard, and they spent a lot of time in the air conditioning, lying in bed, watching the TV.

The kid, she was real hot on getting reacquainted, but she was banged up as hell, and Eddie wasn't taking any chances with her health.

They both had to be in fighting shape to finish the mission.

He wanted to spend some time with Sal. She had come all the way from L.A. to see him, and she'd got herself all bent out of shape, thinking he was going to cash in his chips, so he figured he had to do something to get her calmed down.

But, then again, getting beat up by thirty guys and tied out in the jungle for a week takes a lot out of you.

The room was cool, the bed was soft, goddamn Nick had the TV's hooked up to cable, and the comfort of the kid's warm little body was pretty hard to leave.

And considering she was beat up too, he didn't have to be embarrassed that all they got up to was some dumb teenage shit.

He got up to visit with Sal, and she didn't press her luck.

Good old Sal; he knew he'd be back to his old self soon, then he'd fly out to LA and make it up to her.

As for Laurie, she didn't waste any time.

Under her own steam, and accompanied by a field agent Nick Fury sent with her, she did a little reconnaissance on Machado's camp.

She was all set to go in her costume, but since it wasn't really jungle-worthy, Nick set her up with some S.H.I.E.L.D. fatigues, some of which she integrated with her costume, but she refused to "go in dressed like a goddamn civilian grunt."

At the end of the week, the three masks had a meeting in the room at the barracks.

Sally didn't attend; she knew she wasn't up to any jungle missions.

Edie wasn't so easy to dissuade; she wanted to go in with them and get the sons of bitches.

Nick Fury asked what her qualifications were, and she told him.

"I killed Mickey Blake, and I'm from Brooklyn, and I'm Eddie's sister. I'm every bit as tough as he is." She said.

Eddie had to wonder if Laurie was every bit as tough as her aunt was.

But him and the kid would be there, DC wasn't a playground, and it was about time she did a serious mission where she had to carry a gun.

"Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news is, Machado and his men think you're dead, and so do two of the rogue Marines. The bad news is that Stapleton asshole is real nervous without a body, and he's got goons all around the perimeter, and on the coke refinery. They're all local guys, and it doesn't look like any of them are Bolivian military, but they're armed to the teeth and they look like they know what they're doing."

"You ever kill anybody, Laurie?" Eddie asked.

"Some."

"How?"

Laurie shrugged.

"Fighting hand to hand. A couple with their own weapons. The usual. I mean I don't have a body count like you and the Red Death here, but I've had my share of kills." She said.

Eddie chuckled at calling Liv the Red Death.

"There's your next tattoo, kid. How are you with a gun, Lar?"

"I got no experience with the heavy shit, but I'm good with a handgun." Laurie admitted.

"Alright. You're in. But this ain't the drive-in, it's a mission. No mouthing off and no insubordination. That'll get you killed out there."

"What's the plan, Eddie?" Liv chirped.

The Comedian looked over both his shoulders.

"Walls got ears, girls. I'll tell youse when we're on the road."

In the morning, on the seventh day after Eddie rose from his hospital bed, he got the kids out of bed bright and early, and they suited up, geared up, and packed the M151 with the smile faces on the doors, and the Comedian had the Harlequin and Silk Spectre II wait a minute in the truck while he went to tell Nick he was moving out.

Nick didn't try to make him listen to the doctors, but he tried to give him some take a team in with you shit.

Eddie wasn't having it.

Two weeks after being brought in on a stretcher at death's door, he was back to his usual robust good health, smoking like a chimney and roaring like an angry lion.

"Hey, it's because I hadda take a team in that I almost died out in that fuckin' jungle in the first place! That Mitrione cocksucker, he's lucky I don't stake his ass out for seven fuckin' days! No team! I'm takin' my partner and my kid, that's all the fuckin' team I need."

"I guess I'd be wasting my goddamned breath asking you to bring Machado back alive."

"After what he did to me? Yunno, I've come close to cashin' in my chips quite a few times since 1938. This was the closest call I ever had, and of all the deaths I could had, tit was about the worst. You want proof it's him? I'll bring youse his head and his hands."

"Well, maybe Harlequin is enough. Do you know that in the course of saving you, she ruptured a disc in her back, dislocated her left shoulder, again, and pulled a hamstring? She was up and around in two days. They had to practically tie her to that bed, so she'd get better. That girl is tough, Eddie. You know, I still have John Stryker's pickled head in my office on the Helicarrier, under a black cloth."

"I know she's tough, Nick."

"Did you know she was this tough?"

"Yeah. I did. You forget, I know just how tough she is."

"That's right. You do. And I guess you also know that while you were tried out between two trees, some clowns in New York were throwin' her out a window. Tell me why you never take First Sergeant Napier on missions with you? We both know she's got the jam for it, and we both know why." "You a readin' man, Nick?"

"More than you, I bet."

"You ever read a book called _Heart of Darkness_? Jimmy gave it to me, a long time ago."

"I see your point, Mr. Director. What about Silk Spectre, Part Two? Is she tough enough?"

"She's my kid. And Sal's."

"I know that, Eddie. But is she tough enough for this kind of mission?"

"Sure. She's no lightweight, and she needs some real fuckin' experience. That shit with Mr. Blue Velvet ain't gonna last forever. Laurie's gonna hafta go out there and swim with the sharks, someday. Better she gets her toes in the water with two sharks watchin' her back. Besides, she's a Blake. You fuck with her friends and her family, you fuck with her. She'll go out there whether I say she can or not."

"You sound proud of her, Pops."

"Fuckin' right I am. I got in there and raised her right, anyway, didn't I? So, I'll be seein' youse in a coupla days, Mr. Director."

"I'll have transportation to New York waiting for all of you. Good luck."

The Comedian left his office, and Nick Fury was satisfied that the mission would be finished.

As for Eddie, he found that the rest of his team were ready and raring to go.

Liv was waiting outside the office, and Laurie was laying on the horn, outside the building.

"Ya ready ta go kick some ass, kid?" Eddie asked his partner

"You know me, Eddie. I was born ready."

He smiled fondly at his girl.

"I'll bet you was. An' then, I'm fuckin' ready to get outa this Third World toilet. When we get back from this little adventure, doll, we're gonna take a fuckin' supersonic jet back ta civilisation, an' then we're goin' back to my place. An' I'm gonna lock my door, pull down my blinds, shoot my phone, and screw the ass offa youse on every soiface in my whole fuckin' apartment. Shit, I may even grab a brick of reefer from the joint before we blow it up, an' we'll crack open the good Scotch, get a case of Guinness, have a fuckin' party." Eddie promised.

"For what?"

"Because we both dodged a big fuckin' bullet. You know why you almost died in the street, an' I almost died in the sun?"

"Bad luck? Random universe? Dastardly plot?"

"No. Because we both went in without our partner. Somethin' that ain't gonna happen, again, kid. Now, let's blow this joint, before them fuckin' doctors try and get us both all filled with goofballs an' back in bed, again. "

They went out to the M151, and Eddie got in the driver's seat.

"Liv, get in the back, and get on the machine gun, just in case. Lar, youse get in the front with me. And keep that pistol out."

Laurie looked in the back as Liv opened the back flap.

"Holy shit, you got a .30 calibre machine gun mounted to the back of your truck? Is that standard Marine shit?" she asked.

"No, that was Liv's idea. She did a lot of work on this baby. Real James Bond shit. There's a rocket launcher in the back, too, in the ammo box built under the seats. Might use it to blow up parts of the compound. You wanna fire it?"

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? Now, this is what I call serious mask work! Wait till word gets out on the street I was in on this! I'll be fuckin' huge! Jon never lets me do this kind of shit!" Laurie enthused.

"That's cos this is the deep end where he don't swim. Alright, troops. Bulletproof vests on. Helmets on. Sidearms ready. We're movin' out."

"Hey Lar?"

"Yeah, Liv?"

"Yunno how you're always tellin' Eddie what an asshole he is?"

"That hasn't changed. What's your point?"

The kid laughed one of her Crazy Jack laughs.

"You're about to see up close and personal just what kind of asshole he really is." She said.

That was a pretty good one.

Eddie laughed with her as he put his foot in the tank and headed on down the road to mayhem, revenge, and a little of the old ultraviolence.

_Author's Note: So, I guess the old joke is right on. The family that slays together, stays together. Back home in the States, I'll bet Jon's not going to be very happy when he finds out the Harlequin and the Comedian took Silk Spectre II off on one of their Kill 'Em All & Let God Sort 'Em Out missions. But, then again, I don't think Laurie or Eddie are too happy about the way the biggest joke in New York is that the Watchmen are a real team. They think someone should have had the Comedian's back. And Harlequin's. And Liv? She's been quiet about it. Maybe a little too quiet. Don't miss the next Watchmen meeting. Because if you think there's going to be hell to pay in Machado's camp, well, you ain't seen nothing yet._


	3. Destroyer

**Chapter Three: Destroyer**

**Base Camp, the Amazon, Bolivia, 1975**

**I: Eddie**

As he headed for the rendezvous point, the Comedian looked in his rearview mirror.

Laurie had her hair pulled back and her helmet jammed low on her head; her hands were on the trigger of the .30 calibre machine gun, and she looked bored, angry, scared and jumpy.

She knew she had something to prove, and she was ready to prove it, but, like anybody going on their first serious combat mission, she was scared shitless.

And incredibly pissed off about being scared.

Not good.

He took a look to his right, and Liv was obsessively checking her weapons, again.

The kid had gone into what Eddie liked to think of as Sentinel mode; she was all geared up to be a ruthless, efficient, merciless killing machine.

For the past three days, she'd been getting up at 5AM, jogging around the compound, doing one-handed pushups, spending extra time at the shooting range, and she had knocked out the base's best fighter in a sparring match.

She had a little sly smile on her face, and that bright, unnatural light in her eyes, and she looked bored, homicidal, nervy and jumpy.

Really not good.

Eddie kept looking at the side of the road, and when he came upon the short, stocky, black-haired man in fatigues he was pretty goddamn glad to see him.

The Comedian stopped the truck, and Wolverine got in.

"Hiya, Eddie. Ya look good." Jimmy told him

"I feel great, Jimmy. You been waitin' a long time?"

"I been here awhile. Just long enough to do some snoopin' at Machado's compound. Just pull 'er right in over there. Campsite was pretty much the way you left it."

"We're camping? Out here? In the jungle?" Laurie asked.

Wolverine and the Comedian were polite enough not to laugh, but the Harlequin broke out in brays of hysterical laughter.

"You wanna go back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. complex? They got A/C an' cable, an' I'm sure there's a coupla my mask fuckbooks that was in my pack you ain't read yet. I'll even give youse a ride, an' we'll stop someplace along the way and get youse a little pink fuckin' pillow." She sneered.

Laurie grabbed her by the front of her uniform and Liv kept laughing.

Wolverine was about to intervene, but the Comedian stopped him.

"Let 'em go, Jimmy."

"Are you gonna shut the fuck up, Napier, or am I gonna shut you the fuck up?" Laurie snarled.

"That's more like it! Just button your lip an' listen to the short guy with the claws. When he says "camp" he don't mean a tent and some sticks with hot dogs on them." Liv explained.

Laurie didn't like buttoning her lip any more than her mother did, but she did it, as the Comedian drove through some brush into the clearing where the original camp for the original mission was located.

Barracks tent, latrine, command tent, weapons tent, vehicle enclosure, all military grade.

"Kinda brings back memories, huh, kid?" Eddie smirked.

"More like flashbacks, Eddie." Liv replied.

"Nobody found the place, Eddie. You've still got another jeep here, all the weapons and ammo for the ten men you took in with you, all your plans are still in the command tent." Wolverine told him.

"Good. At least this time I gotta team I can fuckin' rely on. Right. First Sergeant Napier, I want that Jeep checked over from headlights to tailpipe. And when you're done with that, you can join Colonel Howlett and me in the command tent, so's we can brief you on the mission. I guess you ain't got a rank, Laurie. You know how to clean a gun?"

"Yeah. But-"

"No buts, soldier. I'm the CO here. I say jump, you ask how high. And you do what I say if you wanna come outa this alive an' in one piece. Those weapons in the armoury have been rottin' away in this fuckin' jungle three weeks. I want 'em cleaned, and oiled, an' then you can stake out a place for yourself in the barracks tent."

"Don't I get to come to the briefing?"

"Sorry, Lar. But this is a military mission, and you ain't so much as a Private. You'll get your orders as you go."

That really pissed her off, but because she didn't want to be cooling her heels back at the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound, Laurie swallowed her anger and just nodded.

The kid saluted him and Jimmy in her usual smart-ass way.

"I'll get to work on that Jeep, Colonels, sirs!" she said, and she and Laurie headed out to do their respective tasks.

"Hey, Eddie, this ain't bring your daughter to work day. You sure she can handle this?" Wolverine asked, as they went for the command tent.

"She's gotta start someplace, Jimmy. I don't wanna see her end up like her Ma, forty years old and squeezin' herself into a stripper's costume to go make titty flicks for some sleazeball Frog directors in Europe, someplace. Or worse, fifty years old an' playin' a parody of herself on some half-ass TV show. An' ya know what? Sal thinks after alla these years, she's finally hit the big time. I can't even watch that show. It makes me fuckin' sick. I won't see my kid go the same way. If she's gonna be a fuckin' mask, Jimmy, she's gonna be a fuckin' mask."

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

From the vehicle enclosure, there came a sudden outburst of horrible cursing, and the sound of tools being thrown, and then Liv came stomping out of the tent, already partially covered in motor oil.

Laurie stuck her head out of the weapons tent.

"You gonna need that Jeep, tomorrow, Eddie?"

"How bad is it?"

"Somebody sabotaged the shit out of it! It'd take me ten, 12 hours workin' alone!"

The door of the barracks tent opened, and out came Sgt. Patrick Blake, Sgt. Joe McClatchey and Sgt. Frank Marcano.

"Who says you're workin' alone?" Joe asked.

Even Eddie was surprised.

"Hey, Eddie, next time you gotta go in, take your team." Logan suggested

"Same shit, different jungle, huh, Uncle Eddie?" Pat commented.

"Yeah. You even brought Frankie Bear. Frankie, ya look way too happy."

"I'm just glad you're alive, Uncle Eddie."

"Hey, I know Frankie's in the Guard, but youse guys didn't join up again, did you?" Liv asked.

"Naaah. Logan came to the garage and told me to get my uniform on, the Sarge and Napalm were in trouble. Me an' Pat, an' Frankie, we hadda sit in some room downtown for an hour while Logan argued with a whole buncha people, but we been here three or four days, now. Right, Pat?" Joe said.

"Yeah. They gave me a new truck to use. I don't like it as much as mine, but I been riggin' up some of my old favourites. We're gonna blow this shit up real good."

Watching the five soldiers, no, the six soldiers, standing around, Laurie observed that all of them had the Operation Wrath of God patch on their uniforms, and Pat, Joe Mac, Frankie Bear and Liv all had the Operation Wrath of God logo tattooed on their arms.

Laurie had never believed that Liv spent 14 months between 1969 and 1970 working in a secret lab on a German military base for the war effort, and that was how she was involved in Vietnam.

She always thought that despite Liv's opposition to the war, she joined up and went to fight side by side with good old Eddie Blake, and with Pat and Joe Mac and Frankie Bear because when Uncle Sam called them up, it became her war, too.

And seeing them all there together, laughing about same shit, different jungle, and saying, the way most 'Nam vets did, what a pointless hell of a deadly quagmire the whole war was, it made Laurie even more sure she was right.

"Hey! Those guns aren't gonna clean, themselves!" Eddie barked.

"I'll help you, Lar." Pat volunteered.

"Me too. I don't wanna be anywhere near that garage when Napalm's throwin tools. Joe knows where ta stand and when ta duck." Frankie Bear added.

Joe went with Liv to the vehicle enclosure, both of them talking about the work they were going to have to do on the Jeep.

"Well, I guess the Odd Bunch rides again, huh, Eddie?" Logan quipped.

"You gotta point, Jimmy. Next time I go in, I go in with my partner. An' if I have to take a team, then I'll take my team. C'mon. We got Hell to plan."

**II: Laurie**

"…and in the fuckin movies, somebody always yells "Cover me", and then he goes runnin' out into machine gun fire with a .45. I never fuckin' said "cover me" in my fuckin' life. Did you, Eddie?"

"No, kid. But I wouldn't run out in front of ten assholes with machine guns with only a .38 Special and a catchy tagline. That shit only happens in the fuckin' movies."

"I dunno. I did."

"Frankie, you're like your grandfather. You're fuckin' nuts, and you're a mutant, just like Pop was. What have you got to worry about?"

"Lots, Uncle Eddie. I don't heal up like Wolverine does. Not half as good. Pat, how many times did I get shot?"

"Eleven. You were in the medical tent for three weeks."

"Yeah. That was it. That settled me down, for good."

"An' you said 'Cover me.' I remember." Pat added.

Everybody laughed, and the bottle passed around again.

This was not what Laurie expected for the night before a battle.

But, then again, these guys had seen the elephant, and all she'd ever done was hang onto the trunk.

"Alright, troops, some of youse are movin' out tomorrow at 4AM, so it's time for some shut eye. Frankie, you an' me will take the foist watch. Lar, you an Liv sleep in the command tent. This shit ain't co-ed."

Liv fell right to sleep, but Laurie just lay awake.

She was pretty much scared shitless.

She left the tent, and walked to the perimeter of the camp.

"Hit the sack, Frankie." She said.

Her tone was so much like the Comedian's, he listened before he thought twice.

She waited until Frankie was gone, and lit up a smoke.

"Okay, Eddie, you got me. I'm scared shitless."

"That's understandable. Ya wanna go back? Nobody'll think any the less of you."

"Fuck that shit! What do you think I am, a fuckin' pussy?"

The Comedian laughed.

"Hell, no. Not you."

"Eddie, why the fuck did you bring me in on this?"

"You want the long version, or the short version."

"I'll take the long version."

The Comedian lit a fresh cigar.

"Because I fucked up your mother's whole fuckin' life. And yours. Hollis Mason shoulda been your father. You shoulda had him teach you how to cook eggs and drive a car, and he shoulda been the one to tell Ostermann you weren't leavin' home till you were all grown up. Your Ma's a good woman. So are you. Ya both deserved a good man. A good father. Instead, youse got me. Lucky youse. That fuckin' TV show, it makes me fuckin' sick. Your Ma was a good mask. One of the best. Nobody ever took her seriously. And now, Jesus, she's got you runnin' the streets in a costume even whorier than hers. You gotta take this mask shit serious, Lar. Or you gotta leave it alone. Do somethin' with that college degree youse got, or go back ta school for somethin'. Or marry the Doc, and have a buncha little blue babies that grow up to be X-Men. Nobody ever gave Sal a chance. An' I wasn't far enough up the tree to do much for her, at the time. But, alla that's changed. This is your chance, Lar. Don't be scared. I ain't gonna let you outa my sight. I know ya don't like me very much. But ya gotta trust me on this one."

Being so close to death had made the Comedian reflective.

It made Laurie reflective, too.

"You think I don't take it fuckin' seriously?" Laurie asked.

Knowing that she didn't take it seriously, enough.

"Not alla time. I know Sal. I know she never let youse decide if ya wanted to be a mask or not, and then youse got together with the Doc, an' it wasn't like there was anythin' else ya knew what ta do with your life. I mean, how ya gonna take somethin' seriously when ya never really though about whether it was what ya wanted outa life or not? Especially our kinda work, ya know?"

"You've got a point, Eddie. Sometimes I don't know why I do it. And sometimes I put my costume on and I think, Jesus, where am I going? Times Square? And I know I'm the Silk Spectre's daughter and Dr. Manhattan's girlfriend, and that's all I am to a lot of people. But I've put a long time into this job, goddamnit! And, like you said, what else do I know what to do with my life?" Laurie answered.

"I guess it's in your blood." Eddie replied.

The question was on the tip of her tongue, again, and it made her heart beat faster just thinking about asking it.

It still wasn't the right time.

But, then again, would there ever be a right time for this question?

Especially considering she knew now that, at any time, she might lose her chance.

"Eddie…are you my father?"

He turned to her.

"I made your mother a promise, Lar."

"I won't tell her. I won't tell anybody. But I gotta know, Eddie. I've gone through my whole life not really knowing who the fuck I am, or where the fuck I came from. And I almost lost my chance to ever ask you this question, and find out. So, tell me the truth. Are you my father?"

He smiled.

"Yeah, that's right, Laurie. I'm your father."

Laurie felt like she had been punched in the guts.

Suspecting that Eddie was her father, and being almost a hundred per cent sure that Eddie was her father were a lot further from Eddie telling her that he was, in fact, her father than she thought they would be.

She grabbed the chain-link perimeter fence with both hands.

"Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ and the Catholic Church." She muttered.

He put his hand on her shoulder, and that was oddly comforting.

It reminded her of the last time her mother left her with Larry when she had to go out of town.

The big storm, and all the power going out.

"You alright, Lar?"

"I'm not sure. I mean, this changes…well, no it doesn't. Because, somehow, I always knew. In a way. I guess it all makes sense, now. Maybe I didn't, you know, know for sure, but I at least suspected. But…Jesus, Eddie. You're my father. Edie's my aunt. Aggie's my aunt. Ivan's my uncle. Pat and Paulie and Frankie are my cousins. Do they know? Your family? I mean, our family?"

"Yeah, they know. That was part of the deal I made with your Ma. I said I wasn't keeping it from the rest of the family. Because I kinda figured you would need a goddamn family, whether ya knew we were that, or not. Your Ma's people are dead, and she don't talk to her sister."

"I know. God, this is so fucking heavy. It makes me wish I didn't feel so ambivalent about you."

"That's okay, Lar. Your Ma feels the same way."

Laurie lit another cigarette.

She sat there, alone, in the dark, and the thunder and the lightening and the rain and the wind just wouldn't quit.

Larry said he'd be back in an hour, but he had been gone all day and well into the night.

"There's something else I have to know. Why did you do it? The trophy room, I mean? I mean, I've known you all my life, and I've heard a million horror stories about you, and not one of them was about anything like that."

"I ain't got a good explanation."

"Then gimme a lousy explanation."

The Comedian swore under his breath, and took off one of his gloves.

"You ever notice this scar?"

The scar he was talking about was an ugly, puckered burn scar in the palm of his left hand.

"Yeah. Lots of times."

Then, when lightening hit the transformer across the street, and it exploded with a bang, when that big wind came and blew a big tree branch into the yard with a colossal crash.

Laurie wasn't sure where he was going, but she was following along.

"Well, the thing about Pop, about your grandfather, if you wanted to live to grow up in his house, all you hadda do was be healthy and stay out of his way. If you was sickly or underfoot, he'd kill you. Except for me an' Edie. He liked us. We was the apples of his eye. So he cared about what we did. He wanted to make us into somethin'. That was bad news for us. Now, Pop still never gave us any money. An' it goes without sayin' he never gave any to the other kids. Not a red fuckin' cent. An' this was during the Depression. Your grandmother, she usedta clean houses an' do laundry. We lived offa that, but ya know, there was always another baby, and always another death, an' after Pop killed my older brother, Paul, I was the oldest. So it was my job, yunno? I usedta sell newspapers onna corner, but ya don't make a lotta money doin' that shit. I was eight, lyin that I was ten, but nobody's gonna hire a kid that young for a real job. So I usedta raid garbage cans, an' if I couldn't find nothin' edible, an, like I said, this was the fuckin' Depression, I hadda lotta competition, I started stealin' food. When I got caught, yunno, they didn't do shit to me because I was Mick the Merciless' son, but it made Pop look bad. He turned the gas on the stove on high, an' held my hand over the flame. Not over the fuckin' burner, over the flame, until my fuckin' hand started to melt. Like wax. That's how I got this scar. I gotta few more, from your grandfather. But I'd die before I told you how I got 'em."

Eddie wasn't too fond of the way Laurie was looking at him, but at least it wasn't like she wanted to kill him.

"Oh my God, Eddie." She said.

"Yeah, well, when I was 17, I was a mean, rotten little bastard. I didn't wanna be nothin' like my father, but you didn't want to either, did you? Sometimes ya can't help yourself, ya are who ya are. In the trophy room, when your Ma hit me, I lost it, I hit her back. More'n once. An' when she was on the ground, I was sorry I did it. Sorrier yet I did it because she told me no. I figured I'd try to make it up to her. That was the way it was at my house. That was how all 12 of us came around. Pop was always beatin' Ma up, an' he was always sorry. An Ma always wanted ta make up. What did I know? I was only 17, an' I was a rotten little bastard who never had a woman say no to him before, who never asked nice for anything in his life."

Laurie shook her head.

"What, you figured, in the end, if you did a good job, everything would work out alright?"

"I toleja it was a lousy explanation. It's the truth, though."

"That is really fucked up, Eddie! Jesus! An' this guy, your father, this guy who did all this shit, who tortured you, an' murdered a whole bunch of my aunts and uncles, he's my grandfather? I got his blood?"

"Yeah. An' you kinda look like me. An yunno why Pop was so fond of Edie and me? Because we looked just like him."

"Why dontcha tell me a nice story, Eddie? Somethin' that don't depress the shit outa me? Jesus, I wanna go get my tubes tied."

"Hey, kid, family ain't destiny. Did I ever raise a hand to you, or your Ma? Ya met alla your livin' aunts an' uncles I brought up. Ya know I never raised a hand ta them, either. An' I didn't turn out to be a piece of shit criminal, did I? You'll be alright, kid. Don't worry about it."

Laurie lit another cigarette and laughed.

"Well, you did hit Liv."

"I had no choice! I hit her after she called me a cunt and broke my fuckin' nose. The kid's good. She turned her head right at the last minute so when I hit her, I got the side of her face that's all metal."

"You guys don't have fistfights on a regular basis, do you?"

"Fuck no! I wouldn't stand for that kinda sick shit, I woulda told her to get lost a long time ago. One thing I can't stand is alla that sick shit. I think they should put those kinda perverts in fuckin' jail. But, Liv, she likes to break dishes and throw shit, though. But my Ma used to break dishes and throw shit, and so does yours, so I got good at duckin'."

Laurie laughed, just a little.

"See? It ain't the end of the world."

"Eddie, do you think I have to be, you know, like you and Liv to get taken seriously as a mask?"

"Naaah. People take Danny Boy seriously and look what a fuckin' cream puff he is. But ya gotta start doin' real missions. On your own. Without the Doc. Serious shit."

"Like this?"

"Well, not always. Because you got no combat training. But this is a good start. It'll make people realize that you ain't some Twinkie."

Laurie took a drag on her cigarette.

"That's it, Eddie. That's it in a nutshell. No matter how hard I work, everybody thinks I'm a fucking Twinkie. But that's not why I'm here."

"Why, Lar?"

She got really scared, then, and she got on the phone and called Edie's house.

It was really late, but Eddie was still awake.

"Eddie, do you remember when Larry left me alone during that big storm, and you came and got me?"

She was crying in the dark, and then she heard the knock on the door, and ran to it, and Eddie picked her up, and she hugged him, turned her face against his raincoat and hung on for dear life.

"Yeah, that sunnuvabitch. You weren't even old enough ta go to school yet. You was so scared. You hung onto me alla way to Bensonhurst. I was so fuckin' mad at that cocksucker!"

The next day, Eddie took her back to the apartment to get her stuff, and Larry had finally returned.

"You were yelling at him, Jesus, that was the first time I heard some of those words. And I grabbed your sleeve and told you to hit him."

Eddie laughed.

"Yeah, you did. So, I hit him. Then you told me to hit him again. I kept hitting him, an' I was gonna keep hittin' him until you quite tellin' me to, an' I thought, wait, thsi is my little girl, he'll be dead before she tells me to quit hittin' him."

"He deserved it. The son of a bitch. Ma never left me alone with him, again. Larry told her he fell down the stairs."

They both laughed.

"I'll tell you why I'm here, Eddie. Whether I like it or not, whether I like you or not, you are my father. And you were always there when I needed you. And Paulie's Uncle. And Liv's partner and her old man. And, I mean, these sons of bitches, they tried to murder you in one of the worst possible ways you could kill anybody. They have to pay for that. I have to make them pay for that. I can't just let something like that go. Family trait, huh?"

"Pretty much."

Laurie wanted to say something else, but she didn't have anything else to say.

"Well, I better go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. Places to go. People to shoot."

"That's the spirit, kid. Because, believe me. It really is all a big fucking joke."

"Ya know somethin', Eddie? The longer I live, the more I think you're right."

**III: Stapleton**

Stapleton didn't like it.

The way the ropes were cut through, it looked like they had been gnawed by an animal, and there were no new tracks or drag marks, or footprints.

Just the chewed ropes and some blood where the Comedian had once been.

Van Buren, the little fuck, seemed immensely relieved; Colonel Blake scared the shit out of him even half-dead.

Macchio was willing to believe the animals had taken him, he kept on stuffing his face full of food and his nose full of coke.

Alejandro went with whatever El Jefe told him, and Machado, in his fucking cowboy hat and his mirrored shades, was confident that the jungle had taken the "gringo masked man" just as it had taken everyone else he ever tied out on the hilltop between the two trees.

Many times they had found no traces of a body other than some chewed ropes, and a little blood.

He had bigger fish to fry; he had already buried seven of his men and two more died of their wounds.

But Sgt. Stapleton didn't like it.

Men like Colonel Blake didn't die that easy, if they died at all.

The other seven spics were with Stapleton.

When they heard there was no body they fled into the jungle, and Machado was on his ass, about losing all his men.

They wouldn't have to worry about it if the Comedian was alive, Sgt. Stapleton thought, wryly.

He bought a bunch of new guys, and armed them, 25 or thirty guys, but he didn't have a lot of confidence in them.

Not against the Comedian.

If he was still alive, they could have had a million guys.

And they'd still be dead, come nightfall.

**IV: Eddie**

The plan had been simple.

Enter the compound at night, guerrilla-style.

Secure the barracks, and the men inside.

Set charges around the factory and the weapons depot, let them blow, take Machado back to S.H.I.E.L.D HQ and let the rest of them run off into the jungle once they got free, if they hadn't been blown to kingdom come.

The new plan was essentially the same, except they were going to charge in, in broad daylight, and the men who betrayed him and tried to murder him, horribly were going to get a one way trip to Hell.

The hard way.

At four in the morning, Pat, Frankie Bear and Jimmy moved in.

Pat set all the charges, and drove back to base camp.

' Jimmy and Frankie snuck into where the five Marines who had remained loyal to Col. Blake were being held, and distributed weapons and ammo.

The signal for them to move in would be when the drug depot exploded.

While, as their usual protocol denoted, Joe Mac and Pat stayed at base camp, guarding the home front, the Comedian moved in as dawn was breaking, with his girls.

Laurie was manning the .50 cailbre, and Liv sat beside him.

As they approached the perimeter, Eddie hit the detonator with the blue button.

It took out all of the perimeter fence, and about 15 of the 25 guys that were guarding the place.

"Alright, we're goin' in. Laurie, open fire back there. I got fifteen bodies, I need ten more."

They breached the fence under heavy fire, but not for long.

It's not that hard to take a man out with a .50 calibre machine gun, even if your aim isn't so great.

Laurie managed to take out eight of the guards.

The two remaining approached the M151, and she pulled a 9mm Baretta out of a holster in her bra and blew them both to Hell.

"A little somethin' ya learned from your Ma, huh?"

"Like you said, Eddie, she was one of the best. Can I push the green button?"

Eddie passed the detonator back.

Laurie pushed the green button.

The dope factory blew sky-high.

"Holy shit!" Laurie marvelled.

"That's Pat, he's the fuckin' best!" Liv replied.

Frankie, Logan and the five Marines burst out of the holding pen, and, once they were in the clear, Eddie pushed the yellow button.

Goodbye holding pen.

Col. Blake took command of his troops.

"Alright, men, surround that barracks!"

The seven men surrounded the barracks, weapons at the ready.

Laurie looked around at the burning wreckage and all of the bodies and the pissed off Marines and one extremely pissed of Wolverine, ready to killkillkill, and she realised they had pretty much won.

"Eddie, is it usually this easy?" Laurie asked.

"No. These people are fuckin' morons. I figured I'd start youse out with an easy one. C'mon, kid. Let's drop in on my old friends. You too, Lar."

The Comedian kicked the door to the barracks in, and four of them were in there, including Machado, all groggy from being up all night, drinking, and getting high.

They all had their hands up, already.

"This is pathetic. Knot Tops are easier to beat than this." Laurie observed.

"Wait a minute. He's not here. The smart one. Crew Cut Douchebag isn't here." Harlequin pointed out.

"Stapleton. I ain't surprised. He probably took to the bush. Kid, get Jimmy. You two are the best trackers we got. Ferret the son of a bitch out. But save him for me, alright?"

"I will. His trail's got to be pretty fresh. We'll find him."

"What do I do?" Laurie asked.

The Comedian laughed

"Time for you to help Daddy go to work."

"Isn't that supposed to be a secret?"

"Fuck 'em. The only person these fucks are gonna tell it to is your grandpappy in Hell."

They walked into the shack.

"Well, hello, boys. Bet you never expected to see me again, huh? Hands on your fuckin' heads and march. Nice and easy. If any of them makes a false move, Silk Spectre, kill him."

"You got it, Comedian."

The men marched out.

"Alright men, you can stand down, now. Master Sergeant Marcano, take these men on patrol through the surrounding area. If you find any enemy, give them a chance to surrender. If they don't surrender, shoot to kill. Leave the bodies in the open."

"Yessir, Colonel Blake. Okay youse guys, move out! It's payback time."

The Comedian waited for his men to leave, and then addressed his captives.

"Alright, fellas. Keep your hands behind your heads, an' get on your knees. Eyes on me. Silk Spectre, you know what to do if anybody gets jumpy."

Laurie held her gun on them.

Machado probably knew what was coming, but the rest of them had hope.

Eddie liked that; it gave him something to work with.

Give them all a little taste of what they gave him.

"I'd like to introduce youse guys to my little girl. She's been wearin' a mask since she was 16, an' she's a college graduate. This is her first serious mission, an' I'm real proud of her. She killed 25 of your cocksuckers, today. Two at point blank range. Lar, lemme introduce youse to the guys who almost made you half an orphan. This cringing little fuck is Private First Class Owen VanBuren. Say hello, VanBuren, ya little faggot."

"H-H-H-Hello."

"Look at that, willya? Van Buren, you make me fuckin' sick. At least that fat pig and Stapleton had some real balls, but you been cryin' for your mommy since this mission began. I don't give a flyin' fuck at a rollin' donut if you weren't part of the plot, ya coulda told me about it a little sooner, but you were too fuckin' chickenshit. Ya sold me, an' five guys from your outfit down the river. Well, ya lived like a yellow fuckin' dog, and now you're gonna die like one."

He drew his pistol, jammed it against VanBuren's thundering heart, and pulled the trigger.

Private Van Buren slumped over, dying.

The Comedian kicked him onto his back.

"Finish him off for me, Lar."

Laurie reminded herself of what the dying man did, and she shot him twice in the head.

Once between the eyes, once at the back of the head.

The Comedian moved on to Alejandro, and ripped off his sunglasses.

There was fear in the man's eyes.

"You don't look so happy now, you fuckin' little toady! My partner tells me you were gonna cut my fuckin' head off."

The Comedian unsheathed the machete he had brought from his jeep for just this purpose.

"You foist."

He sliced off Alejandro's head, and when it rolled over by his feet, he kicked it away.

Casually.

The blood spatter got all over Corporal Macchio, who had pissed his pants in fear.

"Guess you're all outa balls now, huh, ya loudmouth fat fuck prick? Always stuffin your fat face an' laughin' at everybody, brayin' like a fuckin' donkey. What you need is a bigger mouth ta do it with."

Eddie took out his hunting knife, and slit Macchio's throat.

He left him to bleed out, sheathed the knife and ordered Machado to his feet.

"Guess what, fucko? We're goin up the hill."

"You can't make me walk up that hill, gringo."

"Sure I can."

The Comedian gave Machado the most devastating uppercut in New York City, knocking him out.

He slung the man over his shoulder.

"Give the fat one the coup de grace, Lar. I'll be right back."

Laurie quickly delivered the requisite shots, and followed her father.

"Is that the guy who tied you out?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm comin' with you."

Machado woke up as Eddie was tying him his arms to one tree and Laurie was tying his legs to the other.

"You should be ashamed of yourself. Your father is the Devil!" Machado spat.

"No, I think my grandfather is the Devil. Or at least he's a demon. You'll be seein' him, soon. An' maybe I'm not the Old Man's biggest fan, but I'm related to a lot of people who are. So, fuck you, asshole. Try to die well." Laurie told him

"His kind never do, Lar. They can dish it out, but they can't take it."

"Hey, Comedian, you asked me to bring you a woman before you died. I'm asking you the same thing. What about your daughter?"

Laurie kicked Machado in the balls, at the same time as Eddie broke his nose.

"Not funny, ya spic bastard! Now, the way I saw it, if I could live long enough that the animals thought I was done for, an' chewed through the ropes so's they could eat me, I could have crawled away. An' ya know what? I prob'ly coulda. I mighta even made it. But not you. You prob'ly wont make it through the second night. But, lemme tellya, that third day, it's the worst."

"Fuck you, gringo!" Machado screamed

"Yeah, yeah." The Comedian chuckled.

He put out his cigar on Machado's chest, and he and Laurie walked back down the hill.

When he got about halfway down, he saw something rustle in the bushes, and then just as he was pulling his gun, out came Stapleton, with an M-1 in his hands.

"You evil old sunnuvabitch! I always heard that next to Wolverine, you were the toughest there is, maybe tougher, because you're not a mutie. I figured somebody cut you loose, but still, I never figured you'd make it. But here you are, good as fucking new. I saw what you did to the rest of them. Even that spic Machado, up on the hill. Well fuck'm. Fuck'm all. But you're not killing me. You put that pistol down. You and the woman."

Eddie and Laurie looked at each other.

They were both wearing high tech, state of the art body armor that had been developed jointly by Wayne Enterprises and Stark Industries especially for S.H.I.E.L.D.

And, secretly, for masks, of course.

The armor was super thin, super light, and capable of completely stopping anything up to a small shell.

The M-1 only fired a thirty-aught-six.

The Silk Spectre was waiting for the Comedian's signal to fire, and then, despite the fact that neither of them saw or heard the bushes move, Harlequin just seemed to appear behind Stapleton.

Wolverine had really taught her well.

Eddie nodded to liv so slightly that Stapleton didn't notice it.

Laurie noticed, and she saw Liv stealthily taking up an offensive position.

"Why shouldn't I take a fucking shot? You're gonna kill me, anyway." Eddie said

"That's right. I'm gonna shoot out both your knees, and drag you back up there on that hill, and I'm going to tie you to those trees a little higher than Machado. Then, I'm gonna cut your throat, and shoot you in the chest, and right before you die, I'm gonna piss on you, an' then cut off your head. And that goes without sayin' what I'm gonna do to her, and the other girl, when I find her."

Laurie laughed, and Eddie started to laugh with her.

That unnerved Stapleton.

"What are you fucking laughing at?" he insisted

"You, fucko. Me and the Harlequin, we fuck guys like you and then we kill them. Quick if they're good. You better make it good. Or we'll kill you slow." Laurie told Stapleton.

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

Nice bluff.

Maybe it wasn't a bluff.

Oh well, everybody's got a kink or two.

"Piss on me? Why the fuck would you do that, Stapleton? I didn't piss on nobody." He asked.

"I guess that makes me meaner than you, then, huh?"

He was about to fire.

"Wait a second. You ever watch movies?"

"Huh?"

"Ya seen _The Good, The Bad and The Ugly_?" Eddie asked.

There was the sound of clean metal singing through the air, and Stapleton looked at his jerking arm, still holding the gun, and then at his bloody stump, and then turned around to look at at the woman who was more than a foot shorter than him holding the bloody machete.

"You know, I did this to Vic Creed once." She said, conversationally, and slashed a hole in Stapleton's chest.

"He got better. You won't. Tell me something, fucko? You ever dance with the devil by the pale moonlight?" the Harlequin asked.

"Like I always told Jack, that line, it's class. See, Lar, Liv uses it because it's her father's. Like what you was sayin' about your Grandpa in Hell. It's a nice touch." The Comedian explained.

Meanwhile, the Harlequin thrust her hand tattooed with a skull and crossbones into the gaping hole, and closed her hard little fist around the treasonous Marine's thundering heart.

_**RRRRRRRRIIP!**_

Stapleton fell to his knees.

"I guess you missed the part where Eli Wallach said 'If you have to shoot, shoot. Don't talk.'" She said.

The dying man looked at his pulsing heart in the small, bloody hand.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm the Angel of Death. God made me in Hell out of the Devil's hottest fire, to send assholes like you into the deepest, hottest pit. Tell Mickey Blake I said hello, and here's another one for me and Eddie."

"And she just slipped my line in there, because she works with me. You getting this?"

"Yeah, Eddie. It's not rocket science."

Stapleton died.

Just for good measure, Laurie fired a bullet into his brain.

"That's right, kid. Always confirm your kills." Eddie told her.

"I ripped his heart out, Eddie! Ain't that overkill?"

"Shaddup, kid. I'm tryna teach your friend somethin', heah."

Liv looked down at the body.

"You gonna piss on him?"

"Naaah. Too weird. Get rid of that fuckin' thing, willya?"

Liv tossed the dead heart at the dead man.

"Where's Jimmy?"

Wolverine jumped down from a tree right behind them.

"Watchin' your back, Eddie."

"Well, I figure we got this shit just about wrapped up. Now, tell me if they had anythin' worth savin' in this dump, you saved it."

"Of course I did. I radioed Pat and Joe, and they brought the truck. There's room for the salvage, and for our guys."

The sound of gunfire came from the hills.

"Sounds like Frankie's got his end just about wrapped up. C'mon, girls, let's go back ta that stream an' wash up. You too, Jimmy. Ya got blood up to your elbows, again, an' I wouldn't want youse to rust."

"Now what?" Liv asked.

"Well, I guess we'll go back, break camp, an go back to the base. In a day or two, I'll come back for Machado, cut off his head and his hands, and after I turn them over to Nick, we can get the fuck out of here. Hey, when you two work together, do you really take a crack at the badguys?"

"Naaah. That would be unprofessional." Liv said.

"At the very least. And it would be cheating on Jon. But we like to let that story get around. It really puts fear into these assholes." Laurie explained.

When they got back to camp, Laurie noticed that among the things the freed Marines were loading onto the truck were case after case of Scotch, beer and whiskey, and two bales of what appeared to be weed.

"Are you going into business, Eddie?" she asked.

"To the victors go the spoils, kid. I'm gonna part everything out equally. It's just a little weed and a little booze, after you part it out to ten or fifteen people. And we deserve ta have a little fun, after what we been through. Right, men?"

"Sir! Yes sir!"

When they all got back to camp, everybody partied like the world was ending, with booze and dope and loud music and guns firing into the sky.

Laurie began to see why Eddie, why _her father_ was such a well-loved commander.

He never left a man behind, he made sure the enemy were extremely dead and as many of his guys as possible made it out alive, and he wasn't a regular army ramrod; when the mission was done, it was time for a good time to be had by all.

**V: Eddie**

After all their business was taken care of, the Harlequin and the Comedian, in civilian guise, boarded a supersonic jet that deposited them at McGuire Air Force base in Trenton, New Jersey, and returned to New York in the M151 with the smile faces on its doors that had made the trip back in the cargo hold.

It was only an hour and a half drive back to his apartment in Manhattan, where Eddie Blake had some pressing business to attend to.

He was a goddamn long time attending to it, too, because, well, almost dying, it put a fire in your balls, and commonly, Eddie had an inferno going on in his pants; that's just the way a Blake was; they all burnt pretty goddamn hot.

But, then again, so did the kid.

Still, it was always worth it to let her know who her old man was, and show here that wherever she was getting it, and from whoever, it wasn't shit compared to him.

"So, Eddie, where d'you think I should get Ivan to put my new tattoo?"

"You tryna convince me that's all that's on your mind?"

"Well, Jesus, Eddie, I'd get down on my knees and worship you, but I done that a coupla times, already, right?"

The Comedian smirked at her.

"Okay, kid. I'll play along. Well, youse got the big one across your chest, between the straps of your undershirt where God an' everybody can see it. Youse got two on each bicep, one on each forearm, the other big one on your neck, one on either shoulder in the back, one in the middle right under the one on your neck, one on the palm of one hand, one on the back of the other, and then there's the words on your knuckles. Ya ands and ya wrsits are all tattooed up. If ya want it someplace visible, it's gonna hafta be small."

"I still got some room on my arms. What, are you worried I'm gonna get a tattoo someplace you won't like?"

"Kid, I'm still gettin' usedta the smiley face on your hip."

"Awww, that one was for you, Eddie."

"Yeah, but every time I look at it, close enough to see the writin' under it, it makes me fuckin' laugh."

"I don't care if you laugh. It don't ruin my mood."

"Mine, neither. But I'll bet it don't do much for the other roosters in the henhouse."

They both had a good laugh over that one.

In small print, right under the smiley face tattooed on the kid's hip was the following:

"Eddie Blake was here. You ain't a patch on his ass."

Damn straight.

Eddie lit up a cigar, and blew smoke rings into the air.

Liv curled up against his chest, and he put his arm around her.

Machado was dead, Stapleton was dead, they were all dead, dead and toasting and smoking in hell, burning in the kettles full of hellfire that Pop stoked, laughing and burning like the Devil he was.

And where was Mickey Blake's firstborn son, while his enemies rotten in shallow graves in the stinking jungle?

Tucked up nice and warm and safe in a bed the size of a city block in his penthouse apartment high above 5th Avenue, with his girl, the hottest, horniest homicidal hellcat in the mask business curled up against him, purring like a contented cat as she drifted off to sleep.

"It's good ta be the king." Eddie observed.

And then he laughed.

**New York City, Watchmen Meeting Place, 1975**

**VI: Dan**

The Justice League were a team.

They worked together, they made plans, they had meetings, and they executed the plans.

Same for the Avengers.

And the X-Men.

Even Alpha Flight.

But the Watchmen were only a team in the eyes of the press.

The best they could do was get together long enough to have a few pictures taken, or model for one of Veidt Enterprises Watchmen action figures without anyone tearing anyone else a new asshole.

That bothered Dan.

Still, on the occasion of their monthly meetings, everybody usually showed up.

Dan knew why.

Rorschach attended because he was Dan's partner.

Laurie attended because she felt they should have some order.

He wasn't sure if Jon came because she did or he had his own reasons.

Adrian looked forward to meetings; he had this dream that the Watchmen could someday be a real team, something for which Dan also ardently hoped.

Although Adrian wasn't holding his breath.

And the Comedian always showed up so he could fuck with Dan and Adrian.

He seemed to take a special joy in making them miserable.

Liv was there because she had trained with Laurie, under the original Silk Spectre, because she worked with Jon in his lab, and she was the Comedian's partner, and because she worked with Dan and Rorschach.

She knew it was a fiasco, but like Jon, she always tried to be helpful and productive, until Adrian started on her.

Which he never failed to do.

There was no love lost between Ozymandias and the Harlequin.

Dan had to admit, Liv might have been right about Adrian resenting her because she was probably as smart as he was.

Liv was also a business rival.

As one of the heirs to Wayne Enterprises, and a close personal friend to Tony Stark, with whom it was rumoured she and Jon were secretly working on a big project, she was involved with both of the multinational corporations who did their best to crowd Veidt Enterprises out of their market share.

The Harlequin was too close to Ozymandias for comfort.

She had another theory.

It was her opinion that Adrian, who, admittedly, was a very cold man, only had his heart warmed once in his life, and that was when he met someone who could best him in combat.

"It was love at first punch, Dan. But Adrian's a smart man. For one thing, he knows Eddie ain't gay. An' for another, I'm not too sure Adrian's gay, either. I think he likes a little bit of everything. But, that's his business. Anyway, I understand the way he feels about the rotten old sunnuvabitch. If I was him, I'd hate me, too."

That left Dan with questions he wasn't sure how to ask.

If you fell in love with another man, if you went with guys, even occasionally, didn't that make you gay?

And why would you fall in love with somebody as they were kicking the shit out of you?

In the end, though, no matter what Adrian thought, or why, Dan felt that Liv's presence was integral to every meeting, for many reasons, not least of which was that she was the only one to ever say,

"Eddie, shut the fuck up."

Which could be very helpful.

As soon as Laurie and Jon arrived, Laurie made a beeline for the Comedian.

That was the other reason she attended meetings; she relished fighting with him.

"You sunnuvabitch! You think I don't know, but I do! I don't know where she was hiding you the last time I visited her in LA, but I could smell your stinky fucking cigar in my mother's house!"

"Jesus, canya lay off me? When you was a kid, it never bothered you, comin' down to eat breakfast, sometimes, an' me bein' there. Ya never turned your nose up at a free trip to the drive-in every Thursday. And youse still got that car I gave ya when I tought youse ta drive. What changed?"

"I didn't know what kinda asshole you were!"

"Yeah, well, kiddo, you must not have been payin' attention to what your mother usedta scream at me. I'm the same kinda asshole I always was. I ain't changed."

"I believe that."

Dan decided to start the meeting, as Jon steered Laurie away from Eddie Blake.

"Okay, everybody, as long as we're all here, we should discuss Moloch getting let out of Arkham, first, I think." He said.

Blake was all over him like a cheap suit.

"We, my ass! Moloch's my problem, Boy Scout. The last thing I need is you jokers muscling in on my action and goading him into doing some kind of drastic shit."

"Jesus, Eddie, all he said was that Moloch was out. Why dontcha shut the fuck up and let the man speak?" Liv said

"Hey, kid, you like Danny Boy so much, why don't you go home with him, tonight?"

"Awww, fuck you, Eddie."

He put his feet up on the table and opened the Daily Bugle.

There was another shot of Spider-Man on the cover, this one with Wolverine.

Laurie jumped back in.

"Did it ever occur to you, that Liv is not completely motivated by fucking?" she asked, taking her friend's side.

"Well, there's always food, cars, guns, and music." Liv cracked.

"I know she ain't motivated by Danny Boy." The Comedian added.

"Shut the fuck up, Eddie, ya don't always hafta be mean to Dan, do ya? Just because he ain't my type, that's not his fault."

"Can we please get back on task? I'm not interested in our female members love lives." Adrian suggested.

"Everybody knows that, Ozzy. You don't keep it under your hat so well in your lavender suit." The Comedian rejoined.

He didn't really think that Ozzy was a whole queer, but the guy had a thing for him, so he was at least AC/DC, and Eddie liked to needle him about it.

Dan bet any money Rorschach was actually smiling under his mask, or grimacing, maybe.

"Yes. Well, uh, so, uh, Comedian, ah, what do things look like with Moloch?" Dan continued.

The Comedian took his feet off the table, and put his paper down.

"I got some information about him trying to wrest the heroin rackets back from that Lucas nigger up in Harlem. You know, the one who's trying to cut the wops out of it. Now, the greaseballs aren't too happy with Moloch, already, because the Kingpin is pissed. He wants to work with this guy, but the guineas, they're ready to kill this nigger, so they'd rather work with Moloch. Buncha fuckin' racists. Meanwhile, every junkie in New York is gonna go apeshit if there's an interruption in supply, so we're pretty much fucked unless I can get Moloch's ass back to Arkham or encourage him dope isn't for him, anymore. You real busy, Rorschach?"

"Negative."

"Good. Me and the kid, we'll be in touch."

"Affirmative, Comedian."

"Hey, Eddie, you wanna cool it on the wops and greaseballs and guineas bullshit?" Liv protested.

"It wasn't directed at you, kid."

"Yeah, but still, watch your ass!"

Dan didn't ask the Comedian what he was planning to do, he didn't want to know, so he moved on to talking about the general problems in the city with street crime and so on.

"I mean, we are not doing enough. Liv goes right into the middle of it. People come to her and ask her for help. Why don't they come to me? Or to you, Adrian? Or to Jon?"

"Oh, that's okay, Dan. I can handle it." Liv said.

Nobody looked at her dislocated shoulder in a sling.

That last mission pushed it out again.

And her ribs were still bound.

Laurie got mad.

"No you can't! Not on your own!"

She was about to say more, but the Comedian spoke first.

"She's right, ya know! That's' what I really wanna talk about! This motherfuckin' city is no better than a goddamn jungle in some places, and those are the places my partner goes, because she knows what it means to really be a mask. When I gotta go on a mission, every time I come back, she's hurt. When I don't have her back, the only one of you who ever does is Sal's kid. And the Inkblot, if he ain't busy. She can call the Bat, she can call Shellhead, she can call the X-Mansion and get Jimmy down here in a flash. But not you fuckers. It's a good thing she's with the Justice League and she can call on them for help, because you fucks don't do shit for her! Watchmen, my ass!"

Dan looked at his feet.

The Comedian had been in South America, on a government mission, and while he was gone, Dan had called Liv, on her night off, to help him with a minor problem near her new home on the waterfront, and she ended up getting thrown out a window, and falling two stories into a Dumpster.

Batman came to her aid, and Iron Man, and she had gone in, without backup, because she saw that Rorschach was in serious trouble, so he was already on the scene, but Dan had gone to bed and had no idea it even happened.

"I do. Promised you I'd watch her while you were gone. Always do. And Harlequin risked her life to protect my anonymity. Always will."

"I know you do, Rorschach. You're the only mask in this fuckin' outfit worth a shit. I'm talkin' about College Man and Boy Scout who don't like to get their hands dirty. And you, Doc, she fuckin' works for you! Every fuckin' day! And you're so fuckin' remote, you don't give a fuck about any of us, anymore! We're all a big science project. Like a fuckin' Human Ant Farm. Which brings me to my next problem with you fuckin' pricks. Nobody's got my back, either. I'm fuckin' tied between two trees in the jungle for seven days! Seven fuckin' days! And not one of you says to himself, gee we ain't heard from good ol' Eddie for awhile, have we? You know who shows up to rescue my ass? The kid. Who has to get up out of bed to do it! Hell, Ostermann, you fuckin' sent her, alone, into the goddamn jungle on broken ribs with a fucked-up arm three or four days after she got thrown out a window! Didn't you think, gee, maybe I should go, too? We both barely got outa there alive! Well?" The Comedian demanded.

"You know, I hate to agree with Eddie, but he's right. This whole idea of us being a team is a real joke. And you can't be a mask without getting your hands dirty, sometimes. I mean, after I hard what happened, I went. Hell, a bunch of guys I know that served with Eddie in 'Nam went. Wolverine was there. Even my mother went. But you guys were nowhere in fuckin' sight! Jesus Christ!" Laurie volunteered.

"Well, I don't agree with the part about a mask having to get their hands dirty! That is not what our vocation is about. Sometimes, fine. All the time, no. I don't hold with Batman's methods, let alone the Comedian's, and they were the Harlequin's mentors. I can't in all conscience help someone to enforce a justice I don't believe in. Trivelino needs backup because she's brutal and sloppy. Like her partner, the Comedian. And her stepfather, the Batman. And her father, the Joker." Adrian protested.

Liv's jaw unhinged.

She was trying to say something, as she sprang to her feet, but when she opened her mouth, she couldn't make words come out.

"Adrian, you are way out of line." Jon commented, sternly.

Then Liv found her voice.

"You chickenshit uptown Nazi cocksucker! The only justice you care about is for nice rich white motherfuckers just like you! I do a lot more than go to these places and kill people, sometimes I'm the only justice an' the only hope the people who depend on me have! Whaddya do, every night? Lock yourself in the bedroom with your big pinup poster of Eddie and sigh like a little girl while you're yankin your crank and thinkin' about how good it felt when he was kickin' your ass? Sorry he wasn't the kinda guy who'd fuck you in it after he was done? I fuckin' know you, Veidt! I got your fuckin' number! I see right through you like you're made of glass!" Liv howled.

Dan couldn't believe what happened next.

Adrian went for her.

"Adrian!" he shouted.

He was going to put himself between the injured Harlequin and a suddenly enraged Ozymandias, but the Comedian got there, first.

He was standing between them, and he pushed Liv behind his back, his cigar smoking like the engine of a freight train, which, in his anger, he seemed about as big as.

"Don't you touch her, you fuck, she's hurt! Now ya wanna fight her, ya cowardly sunnuvabitch? You'll hafta go through me, foist! It's not her fault she knows what you are, ya sick bastard! Everybody knows about you! Just nobody says so! And you know I know what you are, don't ya?" he sneered.

Adrian regained his composure.

"I have no idea what either of you depraved lunatics are talking about." He replied, calmly.

"Can't we all sit down and discuss this rationally?" Dan asked.

"You can't discuss things rationally with a person called Napalm." Adrian explained.

"You started it, Ozzy! Ya hadda insult me! Ya always hafta insult me!"

"She's right, Adrian. It's the same thing at every meeting. You insult Liv and goad her until she flies into a rage, and then you say she's unreasonable. It's unfair of you." Jon protested.

"Unfair? It's unfair I have to work with you people!"

"Adrian, are you calling me 'you people'? Me? That's not right!" Dan protested.

Just around then, the whole "meeting" devolved into a shouting match.

Laurie began to get a splitting headache.

She stood up, on the table, and yelled as loud as she could.

"WOULD YOU ALL PLEASE JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Everybody quieted down.

"Okay, well that went great. I'll see everybody next month." Dan said.

Rorschach put his hand on his partner's shoulder.

"You tried, Daniel."

Dan sighed.

"I did. Well, better luck next time. Let's go to the Gunga Diner. I'm buying."

* * *

Dan and Rorschach ate quietly for quite some time.

"Rorschach?"

"Hurm?"

"Were they saying Adrian's gay?"

Rorschach sighed into his plate, and shook his head.

"Not quite, Daniel. I believe Harlequin and Comedian were accusing him of being some kind of perverted sado-masochist, who is only capable of having deep emotional ties to someone who can physically best him. Regardless of gender. The only person who has ever been able to do so is the Comedian. Hence the allegations."

"But what about that whole…ass thing."

"Goes with the masochism. Physical punishment followed by deviant and degrading sexual humiliation. Common disorder." Rorschach replied.

"Oh. That's kind of…"

"Disgusting?"

"Erm, well, I was going to say kinky. You really have to learn, Rorschach, it takes all sorts to make a world."

"Hurm."

They ate for a while longer.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't find it disgusting?"

"Well, I ah, I try to be tolerant of ah, you know, things like this, but honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Well, yeah, the idea of a guy enjoying having another guy beat the shit out of him, and then, want the guy who beat him up to, you know, ah, give it to him up the butt, yeah, uh, well, personally, I mean, for me, yeah, I'd say that was pretty disgusting. You know." Dan replied.

"Good." Rorschach replied.

"Rorschach, you didn't think…I mean, just because I don't have a steady girl, and I haven't, you know, got laid for…awhile, you didn't think…"

"No Daniel. I didn't."

"Good."

"Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"Try looking for women with the costume on. I'm told that helps."

* * *

**VII: Laurie**

"Well, that was an exercise in futility." Jon commented.

Laurie was pretty close to exploding, and when Jon said that, she did.

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it? And you were so fucking helpful, just like you always are! You see Liv every day, you work with her, you have worked with her since she was 16. You could have done more. You could have said more. You should have gone with her! You could have come with Ma and me! And tonight, when everybody just started screaming, you could have done something to shut them up! But you didn't. No, you just stood there and watched. Like we were all your own private TV show. You just don't care anymore, do you? You really don't give a fuck about all us little people!"

"What do you expect me to do, Laurie? Ionize the table? Send everyone home? I spoke up for Liv."

"Yeah. One sentence! And now I suppose you just can't wait to go home to Washington, and stare through the walls!"

"Well…I…"

"Never mind! Fuck it! You go! I'll call you when I want to come home! Have a wonderful time, you and the goddamn universe!"

Laurie stalked away from him, and Dr. Manhattan disappeared in a flash of blue light and a whoosh of air.

Dan tried to talk to her when he came out, but she gave him a dirty look.

It wasn't his fault, and she liked Dan, but she was in a really bad mood.

Rorschach came out right after the Comedian, he and the Comedian said something to each other and then Rorschach and Liv were talking about something and before Laurie could light up, the Comedian was lighting her cigarette for her.

"So, he just left ya here, in this neighbourhood, in the middle of the night. Whatta guy."

Goddamn Eddie, he was always acting like he was her goddamn father, ever since she was a kid.

In that he actually was, that made it more infuriating.

"I can take care of myself, Eddie. I feel like taking care of myself, right now. I hope somebody does fuck with me. I'll cripple him."

"Yeah. So can Liv. She got thrown out a fuckin' window. Thanks for standing up for the kid. Somebody could put an iron bar through her head and she wouldn't say shit."

"You know Liv. She's always been like that. She never admits that anything gets to her. At all."

"Yeah. I noticed. They don't give a fuck about her. Any of them. Me, and Jimmy, and the Bat and Robin, Cap, and you and your mother. An' even that asshole Shellhead. The rest of 'em, they threw her away like so much trash. They gave her to me and they think I'm trash. How the fuck did they know I'm not as black as Hollis Mason paints me? Did they care? No. Sons of bitches. Somebody threw me out a window, Eddie. She says it real casual. Who had your back, kid? Rorschach. They got him. I hadda save him, Eddie. Fuckin' assholes. They forget she's a goddamn woman, a little one too, maybe there's only so much punishment her little body can take. They think she's goddamn Wolverine. Do they care? Fuck no. If anything happens, I swear, Lar there's gonna be blood, blood like you've never seen it before. "

Laurie took a thoughtful puff.

"I agree with you, but it's not all their faults. Liv doesn't do backup. I trained with her. I've tried to work with her. But she never worked with anybody. At all. Maybe on a special project. But on her rounds? When somebody, calls the Harlequin? Never. If she lets you back her up, shit. That's pretty close to un-fucking-believable."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Rorschach melted into the night, and Liv came over to her partner and her friend.

"You have a fight with Jon?"

"Something like that. You can't really have a fight with Jon."

"Yeah, I know. Sometimes I do little shit, just to get his goat, and it hardly ever works. Where did he go, anyway?"

Laurie threw down her butt, and ground it out, angrily.

"Home! Back into his sanctum sanctorum! We never go anywhere. We never do anything."

"Yeah, well me an' Eddie are gonna go to the flicks. Then maybe Grossmann's. You wanna come?"

She thought about it.

"Sure! Why the fuck not?"

The Comedian laughed.

"What? But this time I'm an asshole, an' a sunnuvabitch. An' last month I was a no-good, dirty motherfucker, and a piece of shit. You don't want be seen in public with a guy like that, do ya?"

"My mother has called you all of those things. And more. And it doesn't seem to bother you when she does it."

"And the Doc never takes ya out, huh?"

"You really are an asshole, Eddie. I can't figure out why the fuck I was glad you weren't dead." Laurie told him.

"Yeah. Shut the fuck up, Eddie." Liv broke in

"Oh, Christ! Just like when you was kids. An' I'm still supposed to take ya to the flicks? There's a new Dirty Harry. Ya still like violent action movies, Lar?"

"Yes! I hope Clint Eastwood kills everybody in sight. Twice. Let's go."

* * *

The three of them were sitting in the movie theatre, between features, when Laurie had a brainstorm.

"Liv, did either of you guys think that maybe you getting tossed out a window and Eddie getting double crossed, pretty much at the same time wasn't an accident?" she asked.

"I thought I was just being paranoid." Liv answered.

"Me too. What about you, Eddie?"

"Yeah. I been thinkin' the same thing."

"Who was it that said perfect paranoia is perfect awareness?" Laurie asked.

"Charlie Manson." Eddie told her.

"Oh. Well, I guess everybody gets to be right, sometimes."

"How could it be a setup? And why?" Liv asked.

"An' who are they goin' after, next?" Eddie added.

"I guess we gotta find that out." Laurie decided.

"We?"

"Don't act so fucking surprised, Eddie! Somebody's trying to kill my best friend. And her and my mother would be sorry to see you gone, so yeah. We. Dan's always bitching none of the Watchmen work as a team, and Jon's always telling me to find outside interests."

"I think he meant he wanted you to take up yoga. Or some shit like that." The Comedian suggested.

"Yoga, my ass! What am I, a mask or a goddamn household ornament? I am not just the fucking Twinkie Jon fills up with cream, goddammit, I'm the Silk Spectre! Fuck him if he doesn't like it. God only knows I love the man, but what Jon doesn't know, won't hurt him." Laurie decided.

_Author's Note: A-ha! You weren't being paranoid, faithful readers, there is a conspiracy! But, among who? And for what reason? Not to mention this burning question? Were there other attacks on other masks? And are there more to come? Better read the next chapter. Things are going to get very interesting._


End file.
